[HE  MANHATTAN^ 


EDWARD  S.VANZILE 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE  MANHATTANERS. 


THE  MANHATTANERS 


of  th*  fgrnttr 


BY 

EDWARD  a  VAN  ZILE 

AUTHOR  OP 

'A  MAGNETIC  MAN,"  "LAST  OP  THE  VAN  SI^CKS," 
ETC.,  ETC: 


NEW  YORK 

LOVELY,   CORYELL  &  COMPANY 
1895 


COPYRIGHT,  1895, 
Bv  UNITED  STATES  BOOK  COMPANY. 


THE  MANHATTANERS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

""  I  DON'!  want  to  discourage  you,  my  boy, 
but,  as  our  '  brevier  writers '  are  so  fond  of 
saying,  there  is  'food  for  reflection'  in  that 
historic  figure." 

It  was  half  an  hour  after  midnight,  and  two 
men  were  standing  at  the  south-west  corner  of 
City  Hall  park,  gazing  at  the  statue  of  Nathan 
Hale.  The  taller  of  the  two  was  a  man  who, 
having  passed  the  portentous  age  of  forty,  no 
longer  referred  to  his  birthday  when  he  reached 
it.  He  had  maintained  silence  on  this  subject 
for  several  years,  and  his  friends  were  not  cer 
tain  whether  he  was  forty-one  or  forty-five ; 
but  his  face  seemed  to  indicate  the  latter  age. 
It  was  a  strong  face,  marked  with  lines  of  care, 
perhaps  of  dissipation,  and  about  the  mouth 
5 


The  Manhattaners. 


lurked  an  expression  of  discontent.  That  he 
had  grown  rather  weary  of  the  battle  of  life 
was  indicated  by  his  dress,  which  possessed 
that  indefinable  characteristic  that  may  be  ex 
pressed  as  careless  shabbiness.  His  beard  was 
untrimmed,  and  a  slouch  hat  covered  a  head  of 
iron-gray  hair  that  would  have  been  picturesque 
had  it  not  been  constantly  neglected. 

His  companion  was  a  youth  of  not  more  than 
three-and-twenty,  slender,  carefully  attired,  and 
with  a  delicately-moulded  face  that  was  strik 
ingly  handsome  when  he  smiled.  He  was  show 
ing  his  perfect  teeth  at  this  moment,  as  he 
glanced  first  at  the  statue  of  the  martyred  hero, 
and  then  at  the  sarcastic  countenance  of  his 
companion. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that,  Fenton  ?  Surely 
there  is  inspiration  in  the  sight.  Does  not 
the  figure  prove  that  the  time-worn  slur  regard 
ing  the  ingratitude  of  republics  is  false  ?  " 

"  Hardly  that,  Richard  —  Richard  Cceur  de 
Lion  I  shall  dub  you  for  awhile.  It  simply 
shows  that  somebody,  at  a  very  late  day,  had 
an  attack  of  spasmodic  sentimentality.  There 


The  Manhattaners. 


are  other  heroes  of  the  Revolution,  who  were 
as  self-sacrificing  and  patriotic  as  Nathan  Hale, 
who  are  still  forgotten  by  a  republic  that  is 
grateful  only  in  spots.  Immortality,  my  dear 
youngster,  is,  to  a  great  extent,  a  matter  of 
chance.  But,  to  waive  that  point,  don't  you 
see  how  this  figure  of  enthusiastic  youth,  this 
doomed  martyr — this  complete  tie-up  on  Broad- 
w.ay,  as  a  flippant  friend  of  mine  once  called 
the  statue  —  illustrates  the  dangers  that  beset 
your  path  ? " 

"I  must  acknowledge,"  answered  Richard 
Stoughton  good-naturedly,  as  he  placed  his 
arm  in  Fenton's  and  walked  westward  toward 
the  Sixth  Avenue  elevated  station  at  Park 
Place,  "  I  must  acknowledge  that  I  have  seen 
nothing  in  the  park  that  tended  to  dampen  my 
natural  enthusiasm,  unless  it  was  the  sign, 
'Keep  off  the  grass.'" 

"That's  just  it,"  returned  John  Fenton  in 
his  deep,  penetrating  voice.  "  That  statue  of 
Nathan  Hale  is  what  might  be  called  an  em 
phasis  in  bronze  of  the  warning,  —  a  warning 
as  old  as  human  tyranny,  —  to  keep  off  the 


8  The  Manhattaners. 

grass.  Hale  failed  to  obey  it,  and  went  to  an 
early  death.  Take  warning,  Richard,  by  the 
lesson  the  statue  teaches.  Don't  let  your 
dreamy  and  unpractical  enthusiasm  carry  you 
into  the  enemy's  camp.  They'll  hang  you  if 
you  do." 

"Your  words  are  enigmatical,"  commented 
Stoughton,  as  the  two  men  seated  themselves 
in  an  elevated  train  bound  up-town.  "  I  had 
looked  to  you  for  comfort  and  warmth,  and  you 
give  me  a  shower-bath." 

"  Poor  boy !  "  smiled  Fenton,  less  cynically 
than  was  his  wont.  "When  did  the  youthful 
warrior  ever  gain  anything  of  value  by  consult 
ing  the  battle-scarred  and  defeated  veteran  ?  I 
have  the  decayed  root  of  a  conscience  some 
where  that  troubles  me  now  and  then.  It  gave 
a  little  twinge  just  now,  and  causes  me  to  doubt 
the  wisdom  and  justice  of  my  effort  to  open 
your  eyes  to  the  truth." 

"But  why,"  asked  the  younger  man  earnestly, 
"  should  there  be  anything  to  offend  your  con 
science  in  telling  me  the  truth  ?  " 

"  Ah,  there,  my  boy,  you  ask  a  question  that 


The  Manhattaners. 


the  wisest  men  have  failed  to  answer.  There 
are  certain  truths  that  the  universe  holds  in  its 
secret  heart  and  refuses  to  divulge.  As  a 
microcosm,  every  man  cherishes  in  his  inner 
most  being  some  bitter  certainty  that  he  must 
defend  from  the  gaze  of  the  curious.  If  he 
draws  the  veil,  even  by  a  hair's-breadth,  that 
exposed  nerve  known  as  conscience  will  throb 
for  an  instant,  and  close  his  mouth." 

" "  But,"  persisted  the  younger  man,  whose 
clear-cut  face  looked,  in  contrast  with  his  com 
panion's,  like  a  delicate  cameo  beside  a  mediaeval 
gargoyle,  "  I  had  placed  so  much  value  on  your 
advice  and  sympathy." 

"  My  sympathy  you  certainly  have,"  said 
Fenton  rather  harshly  ;  "  but  giving  you  my  ad 
vice  would  be  —  to  take  a  liberty  with  a  time- 
honored  illustration  — like  casting  swine  among 
pearls.  Is  it  not  some  word-juggler,  who  uses 
epigrams  to  conceal  the  truth,  who  says  that 
the  only  vice  that  does  not  cling  to  youth  is 
advice  ? " 

Richard  Stoughton's  face  flushed,  and  his 
dark  gray  eyes  glanced  questioningly  at  his 
companion. 


io  The  Manhattaners. 

"I  sometimes  think,"  he  said  rather  sadly, 
"  that  you  are  all  brains  and  no  heart,  John 
Fenton." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  my  boy,"  answered  Fen- 
ton  quickly.  "  In  that  case  I  would  have  been 
a  millionnaire  long  ago.  I  was  afflicted  with 
just  enough  heart  to  hamper  my  brain.  The 
result  is  that  I'm  an  assistant  city  editor  in 
the  prime  of  life,  with  a  very  short  hill  to  roll 
down  to  the  grave.  But  never  mind  what  I  am, 
or  what  I  might  have  been.  You  are  the  only 
interesting  personage  present.  You  have  come, 
like  Nathan  Hale,  out  of  the  '  Down  East,'  so 
to  speak,  to  New  York,  to  offer  your  youthful 
enthusiasm  to  a  world  that  has  too  little  of 
that  sort  of  thing  ;  so  little,  in  fact,  that  it 
immortalizes  Hale's  sacrifice,  and  forgets  his 
mission." 

Fenton  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  Just  what  do  you  mean  by  that  last  re 
mark?"  asked  Richard  gently. 

"  I  mean  that  this  great  metropolitan  com 
munity  is  suffering  from  a  tyranny  greater  than 
that  against  which  Hale  and  his  contempo- 


The  Manhattaners.  n 

raries  protested.  I  mean  that  we  erect  statues 
to-day  to  lovers  of  liberty,  to  martyrs  in  the 
cause  of  freedom,  while  we  blindly  and  sub 
missively  bow  our  heads  to  a  yoke  more  tyran 
nical  than  that  which  the  House  of  Hanover 
held  over  our  forefathers.  I  mean  that  Nathan 
Hale  died  in  vain,  unless  his  example  shall  in 
spire  a  generation  yet  to  come  to  rise  against 
an  oppression  more  unjust,  more  pervasive,  and 
more  impregnable  than  any  the  world  has  ever 
seen." 

Richard  Stoughton  looked  at  his  companion 
in  amazement.  Fenton's  face  was  flushed,  a 
baleful  light  gleamed  in  his  large,  heavy  eyes, 
and  he  seemed  to  be  talking  more  to  himself 
than  to  his  companion.  As  they  left  the  train 
at  Twenty-third  Street  and  strolled  eastward, 
the  elder  of  the  two  continued  in  a  calmer 
tone,  — 

"  You  haven't  seen  much  of  life,  Stoughton. 
You  will  find  it  necessary  to  repair,  as  rapidly 
as  possible,  the  intellectual  ravages  of  a  college 
education.  The  tendency  of  Yale  life  is  to 
convince  you  at  graduation  that  you  know 


12  The  Manhattaners. 

everything.  The  experience  of  a  few  years  in 
metropolitan  newspaper  life  will  convince  you 
that  you  know  nothing." 

"  And  the  last  state  of  this  man  is  happier 
than  the  first  ? "  interrogated  Richard  lightly. 

"Alas,  my  boy,  I  fear  not.  But  perhaps 
that  may  be  a  local  issue,  a  personal  equation. 
I  was  more  contented  when  I  measured  the 
circumference  of  knowledge  by  the  diameter  of 
my  own  experience  than  I  am  at  present  when 
I  realize  that  what  I  know  is  so  insignificant 
that  it  has  no  mathematical  value  at  all.  But 
my  experience  has  no  significance  in  connection 
with  yours.  The  chances  are  that  your  career 
will  be  very  different  from  mine.  I  certainly 
hope  that  it  will  be.  At  all  events,  you  have 
the  game  to  play,  and  the  stakes  are  on  the 
board.  I  drew  to  good  cards,  but  somebody 
else  won  the  pot.  But  what  of  it  ?  There 
would  be  no  fun  in  the  game  if  everybody 
won  and  nobody  lost." 

Fenton  smiled  as  he  stopped  in  front  of  a 
brilliantly  lighted  saloon,  and  held  out  his  hand 
to  Richard  Stoughton. 


The  Manhattaners. 


"  Good-night,  my  boy,  and  good  luck.  I'll 
do  what  I  can  for  you  on  the  paper  —  and  let 
me  give  you  a  word  of  advice,  don't  believe  all 
I  say.  Somehow  —  and  of  course  I'm  sorry 
for  it  —  I've  got  just  a  little  romance  left  in 
my  composition,  the  ruins  of  a  magnificent  air- 
castle  I  once  built.  It  is  sufficient  for  me  to 
take  an  interest  in  the  structure  you're  going 
to  build  on  the  firm  foundation  of  youth,  educa 
tion,  enthusiasm,  and  natural  cleverness.  I'll 
do  what  I  can  to  add  a  stone  now  and  then  to 
your  castle,  my  boy.  And  so,  good-night." 

The  two  men  shook  hands  cordially,  and 
Richard  turned  to  hurry  up-town  to  his  rooms 
in  Twenty-eighth  Street,  when  Fenton  called 
him  back. 

"  You  understand,  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion, 
that  it  was  not  rudeness  that  prevented  my 
asking  you  to  join  me  in  a  drink.  I  was  think 
ing  of  your  castle,  my  boy.  It'll  tumble  about 
your  head  if  you  put  alcohol  in  the  cellar. 
Good-night,  old  fellow.  I  must  have  some 
whiskey.  Good-night." 


14  The  Manhattaners. 


CHAPTER   II. 

"THE  Percy-Bartletts,"  as  Town  Tattle  al 
ways  called  them  in  the  weekly  paragraph  that 
it  devoted  to  their  doings,  were  dining  alone, 
"en  tete-a-tete  and  en  famille"  as  the  husband 
sometimes  remarked  in  a  mildly  sarcastic  way. 
Not  that  Percy-Bartlett  was  in  the  habit  of 
being  satirical.  Far  from  it !  He  considered 
sarcasm  and  satire  the  outward  and  visible — 
or,  rather,  audible  —  sign  of  an  inward  and 
hereditary  tendency  toward  vulgarity.  The 
use  of  these  weapons  of  speech  implied  that 
one  possessed  both  temper  and  originality  — 
characteristics  that  were  not  approved  in  the 
set  in  which  the  Percy-Bartletts  moved.  But 
Percy-Bartlett  had,  by  inheritance,  a  rather 
peppery  disposition,  and  a  mind  naturally  given 
to  creative  effort.  It  was  greatly  to  his  credit, 
therefore,  that  he  had  rubbed  his  manners  and 
speech  into  an  almost  angelic  smoothness,  and 


The  Manhattaners.  15 

had  so  thoroughly  stunted  such  mental  quali 
ties  as  were  not  included  in  the  accepted  flora- 
of-the-mind  recognized  by  his  set  that  he 
passed  current  as  a  man  in  no  danger  of  ever 
saying  or  doing  anything  that  would  attract 
special  attention  to  him  on  the  part  of  the 
world  at  large.  It  is  not  generally  known,  but 
it  is  nevertheless  a  fact,  that  it  sometimes  re 
quires  heroic  self-restraint  to  become  a  "  howl 
ing  swell  "  —  a  vulgar  term  that  cannot  be 
avoided  by  the  writer  in  his  effort  to  convey 
to  the  reader  the  exact  social  status  of  Percy- 
Bartlett.  He  was  known  to  the  lower  orders 
of  society  as  a  "howling  swell,"  which  means, 
of  course,  that  howling  was  the  very  last  thing 
in  which  he  would  indulge.  There  are  those, 
the  poet  tells  us,  who  never  sing,  and  die  with 
all  their  music  in  them.  In  like  manner  the 
modern  aristocrat  is  one  who  never  howls,  and 
dies  with  all  his  howling  in  him. 

Let  it  not  be  thought  for  a  moment  that  the 
perfect  self-control  exercised  by  Percy-Bartlett 
indicated  that  there  was  nothing  in  his  life  to 
try  the  temper  of  either  a  saint  or  a  howling 


1 6  The  Manhattaners. 

swell.  In  fact,  the  temptation  to  give  way  to 
his  hereditary  testiness  was  with  him,  practi 
cally,  at  all  times.  Percy-Bartlett  had  nobly 
triumphed  over  all  tendency  toward  originality. 
His  wife  had  not.  It  was  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett 
who  constantly  tried  Percy-Bartlett's  temper. 
If  you  are  a  married  man,  O  reader,  you  will 
realize  the  full  significance  of  the  assertion, 
now  made  with  due  solemnity  and  emphasis, 
that,  in  spite  of  this  fact,  Mr.  Percy-Bartlett 
had  never  said  an  unkind  word  to  her,  had 
never  crossed  her  will,  had  never  shown 
her,  by  word  or  deed,  that  he  was  bitterly 
disappointed  at  her  refusal  to  walk  in  the 
very  narrow  path  that  society  prescribed  for 
her. 

It  must  be  acknowledged  that  there  was 
something  in  the  face  and  manner  of  Mrs. 
Percy-Bartlett  that  rendered  her  husband's 
hesitancy  about  opposing  her  will  seemingly 
explicable.  Her  dark-brown  eyes,  golden- 
brownish  hair,  clear-cut  nose  and  mouth,  and 
perfect  teeth  combined  to  give  her  a  beauty 
that  won  from  every  man  a  chivalric  reverence 


The  Manhattaners.  17 

— from  every  man,  that  is,  who  is  awed  by  the 
loving-kindness  of  the  Creator  in  scattering 
flowers  here  and  there  in  a  weed-choked  earth. 
Furthermore,  there  was  something  in  Mrs. 
Percy-Bartlett's  way  of  using  her  hands  and 
moving  her  head  that  told  of  a  will-power  as 
highly  developed  as  that  which  had  enabled 
her  husband  to  suppress  every  inclination  to 
defy  the  pattern  that  had  been  adopted  by  his 
set.  Percy-Bartlett  had  used  his  self-command 
to  destroy  originality.  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  had 
made  her  will-power  an  ally  of  her  creative 
genius.  The  outlook  for  a  permanent  peace 
between  them  was  not  bright,  but  we  find  them 
at  dinner  at  a  time  when  the  modus  vivendi 
was  still  in  comfortable  operation. 

"  And  who  sings  for  you  to-night  ?  "  asked 
Percy-Bartlett,  his  calm,  blue  eyes  resting  on 
his  wife  coldly.  He  was  a  man  of  thirty-eight, 
with  pale  cheeks,  thin  lips,  and  immobile  coun 
tenance.  The  fifteen  years'  difference  in  the 
ages  of  husband  and  wife  was  more  than  borne 
out  by  their  faces.  She  looked  younger  than 
her  years ;  he  was  younger  than  he  looked. 


1 8  The  Manhattaners. 

"I  think,"  she  answered,  "that  it  will  be  a 
great  success.  The  new  boy-soprano  who  has 
made  such  a  sensation  at  St.  George's  is  com 
ing.  So  is  Gordon  Mackey,  the  tenor — you 
met  him  one  night,  you  remember.  Then  Bry 
ant  Stanton  is  to  play  the  'cello,  and  Mile,  de 
Sargon  has  promised  to  sing  some  of  the  '  Fal- 
staff '  music.  Several  others  of  less  importance 
will  be  here,  —  Barton,  the  baritone,  Miss  Ely, 
the  contralto,  and  so  forth.  Barton,  you  know, 
has  been  singing  my  cradle-song  at  his  con 
certs." 

Percy-Bartlett  looked  at  his  wife  in  a  way 
that  was  distinctly  unsympathetic.  He  seemed 
to  be  thinking  that  a  cradle-song  was  some 
thing  of  a  tour-de-force  for  a  childless  woman  ; 
but  there  are  many  things  about  a  musical 
genius  that  a  layman  cannot  hope  to  under 
stand.  Percy-Bartlett  had  learned  his  limita 
tions  in  this  direction  long  ago,  and  never 
asked  his  wife  how  or  why  she  wrote  vocal 
music  that  was  slowly  but  surely  gaining  popu 
larity.  It  was  a  cross  he  had  to  bear,  and,  like 
a  perfect  gentleman,  he  bore  it  in  silence. 


The  Manhattaners.  19 

"Don't  you  think,  my  dear,"  suggested  Mrs. 
Percy-Bartlett  sweetly,  as  they  arose  from  the 
table,  "that  you  could  endure  just  one  evening 
of  really  good  music  ?" 

"You  will  have  to  let  me  off  to-night,  Har 
riet,"  answered  Percy-Bartlett  coldly.  "  I  have 
a  committee  meeting  at  the  club.  By  the 
way,"  he  remarked  as  they  entered  the  library, 
in  the  intellectual  atmosphere  of  which  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  smoking  his  after-dinner  cigar, 
"  I  had  a  letter  to-day  from  a  business  friend  of 
mine,  a  distant  relative  on  my  mother's  side, 
Samuel  Stoughton  of  Norwich.  He  tells  me 
that  his  son,  Richard,  who  was  graduated  from 
Yale  last  year,  has  come  to  the  city  to  take  a 
place  on  the  Morning  Trumpet.  He  asks  me 
to  show  him  a  little  attention.  And,  really,  I 
don't  see  how  I  can  get  out  of  it." 

"  Why  should  you  want  to  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Percy-Bartlett,  striking  a  few  chords  on  the 
piano,  and  casting  a  questioning  glance  at  her 
husband.  "The  Stoughtons  are  very  nice 
people." 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course.     But  then  a  newspaper 


2O  The  Manhattaners. 

man,  don't  you  know,  may  be  all  very  well, 
but  —  really  I  can't  understand  why  Richard 
Stoughton,  who  was  left  a  fortune,  if  I  remem 
ber  rightly,  by  his  mother,  should  take  up 
the  drudgery  of  New  York  newspaper  life." 

"  Perhaps,"  suggested  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett, 
looking  down  at  her  white,  symmetrical  arms 
and  tapering  hands,  "perhaps  the  young  man 
wants  to  see  all  sides  of  life.  Perhaps  he 
wants  to  enlarge  his  horizon." 

"  Humph,"  exclaimed  Percy-Bartlett,  show 
ing  more  of  his  ancestral  testiness  than  was 
his  wont ;  "  I  can't  understand  such  a  motive. 
If  running  up  and  down  the  city  until  all  hours 
of  the  night,  making  a  nuisance  of  yourself,  is 
enlarging  one's  horizon,  I  should  think  a  man 
of  Stoughton's  position  and  education  would 
prefer  to  remain  narrow  in  his  vision.  But 
there  is  no  accounting  for  tastes  ;  and  I  must 
acknowledge  that,  of  late  years,  a  good  many 
very  nice  fellows  have  gone  into  newspaper 
work.  Well,  we'll  ask  Stoughton  to  dinner 
some  night  when  we're  dining  alone,  and  see 
what  kind  of  a  boy  he  is.  Perhaps  he'll  get 


The  Manhattaners.  21 

over  his  attack  of  journalistic  enthusiasm  as  he 
recovered  from  the  mumps  or  measles.  His 
father  has  done  me  some  good  turns  in  busi 
ness,  and  has  it  in  his  power  to  do  more.  I'll 
drop  a  note  to  Richard  to-morrow  and  have 
him  call  at  the  office." 

Percy-Bartlett  threw  away  his  cigar  and  rose 
to  go.  The  picture  his  wife  presented  was  ir 
resistibly  attractive.  He  bent  over  and  kissed 
her.  It  was  an  unusual  outbreak  of  emotion  on 
his  part,  and  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  smiled  up  at 
him  as  he  turned  to  leave  the  room. 

"  How  late,"  he  asked  as  he  reached  the  por 
tiere,  "  will  your  musical  friends  be  here  ? " 

"Oh,  not  late,"  she  answered;  "come  home 
by  twelve  and  you  will  find  them  gone." 

The  hour  of  midnight  was  striking. 

"  It  was  a  great  success,  my  little  musicale," 
Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett,  with  flushed,  triumphant 
face,  was  saying  to  her  husband  as  they  stood 
in  the  drawing-room  on  his  return.  The  even 
ing  had  been  a  pleasant  one  to  Percy-Bartlett, 
and  the  genial  influences  of  his  club  had  made 
him  sociable. 


22  The  Manhattaners. 

"Come  into  the  library,  Harriet,"  he  said, 
"while  I  smoke  just  one  more  cigar." 

The  smile  on  her  face  vanished,  and  lines 
of  fatigue  formed  around  her  mouth. 

"  Please  excuse  me,"  she  murmured  in  a 
weary  tone.  "I  am  very  tired.  They  en 
cored  my  cradle-song  so  many  times  that  — 
that,  really,  it  wearied  me.  I  fear  I  can't 
stand  success.  Good-night.  I'm  very  sorry." 

"Good-night,"  he  said  coldly. 

Then  he  went  to  the  library  and  moodily 
lighted  a  "perfecto."  There  seemed  to  be 
something  lacking  in  his  life,  something  that 
forever  seemed  within  his  grasp  and  forever 
escaped  him. 


The  Manhattaners.  23 


CHAPTER   III. 

"YES,  Richard,"  remarked  Fenton,  as  the 
two  strangely-assorted  newspaper  men  turned 
into  a  down-town  side-street  to  take  a  table 
d'hdte  dinner  at  a  restaurant  well  known  to  the 
semi-Bohemians  of  the  city,  —  real  Bohemians 
we  have  none,  though  another  generation  will 
beget  them,  —  "  yes,  my  boy,  this  is  the  most 
interesting  metropolis  in  the  world." 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  and  taking  Richard 
by  the  arm,  stood  still  and  looked  about  him  at 
the  passing  throng. 

"Within  a  radius  of  half  a  mile,  Richard, 
not  only  every  nation,  but  nearly  every  tribe, 
religion,  sect,  family,  and  name  that  the  world 
has  ever  known  has  its  representation.  See, 
there's  an  Italian  barber-shop  across  the  street 
kept  by  a  man  named  Caesar.  We  are  to  dine 
at  a  French  restaurant  whose  proprietor  bears 
the  historic  family-name  of  Valois.  I  remem- 


24  The  Manhattaners. 

her  a  few  lines  of  an  after-dinner  poem  one  of 
the  men  in  the  office  read  last  year  at  a  jour 
nalistic  banquet.  It  began  :  — 

"  'Did  you  say  there  was  no  romance 
In  a  town  that  deftly  blends, 
In  a  picturesque  mosaic, 
All  the  Old  World's  odds  and  ends  ? 
In  a  city  where  the  scapegoats 
Of  the  older  countries  meet, 
'Tis  a  crazy-quilt  of  nations 
That  is  seen  upon  the  street.'  " 

"It  is,  in  a  certain  sense,  the  fact  you  have 
just  touched  upon  that  brought  me  here,"  said 
Richard,  as  they  seated  themselves  at  a  small 
table  in  a  dining-room  curiously  decorated  in 
black  and  white.  Around  them,  seated  in 
small  groups,  were  men  whose  faces  bore  the 
European  stamp.  Here  and  there  a  young 
woman  could  be  seen,  smiling  over  her  claret 
at  her  vis-a-vis,  her  white  teeth  making  her 
dark  eyes  more  striking  by  contrast.  There 
was  nothing  distinctly  American  in  the  scene, 
excepting  a  small,  active,  little  newsboy,  who 
rushed  from  table  to  table  selling  the  evening 
edition  of  the  Tnimpet>  and  requesting  patron- 


The  Manhattaners.  25 

age  in  a  voice  that  indicated  an  ancestral 
brogue.  Fenton,  however,  soon  added  one 
more  native  feature  to  the  picture  by  ordering 
a  Manhattan  cocktail  from  a  waiter  who 
looked  as  though  he  might  be  a  pretender  to 
the  throne  of  France,  and  sipping  it  slowly  as 
he  waited  for  Stoughton  to  explain  himself. 

"  You  see,"  went  on  the  younger  man,  whose 
handsome  face  had  already  begun  to  attract 
the  burning  glances  of  several  impressionable 
young  women  at  the  surrounding  tables, 
"you  see,  I  had  my  choice  of  going  into  the 
bank  at  Norwich,  and  depending  upon  my 
father's  influence  to  push  me  forward  in  a 
line  of  life  I  detest,  or  coming  to  New  York 
to  follow  my  natural  bent,  and  to  broaden  my 
views  by  contact  with  all  kinds  of  people.  Of 
course  my  father  hoped  that  I  would  choose 
the  former  course.  But  how  could  I  ?  How 
good  this  soup  is,  Fenton." 

"Yes,"  answered  the  elderly  journalist,  who 
was  much  better  groomed  than  the  first  time 
we  met  him  ;  "  the  dinner  they  serve  here  is 
generally  quite  eatable  —  especially  good,  you 


26  The  Manhattaners. 

know,  if  the  proprietor  realizes  that  you  are 
a  newspaper  man.  The  next  thing  to  being  a 
millionnaire  in  New  York,  my  boy,  is  to  be 
a  city  editor."  Fenton  smiled  in  his  usual 
sarcastic  way. 

"  Then  I  go  up  a  peg  to-morrow  night,"  re 
marked  Richard  playfully.  "  I  dine  with  a  city 
editor  to-night,  and  with  a  millionnaire  to-mor 
row  night.  " 

"Indeed."  Fenton  looked  at  his  companion 
with  an  expression  of  interest  on  his  face. 

"  Yes ;  I  had  a  note  a  few  days  ago  from  a  dis 
tant  relative  of  my  father's,  Percy-Bartlett,  who 
asked  me  to  call  on  him  at  his  office.  He 
owns  real  estate,  I  think ;  but  to  judge  from  the 
number  of  his  clerks,  I  don't  think  he  can  be 
overworked  himself.  At  all  events,  he  was 
quite  cordial,  in  his  touch-me-not  kind  of  way, 
and  I  promised  to  dine  with  him  and  his  wife 
to-morrow  evening.  I  think  he  was  astonished 
to  find  that  I  was  no  longer  a  reporter,  for  his 
cordiality  increased  when  I  told  him  about  my 
promotion." 

Fenton  smiled  rather  coldly,  and  filled  his 
glass  with  red  wine. 


The  Manhattaners.  27 

"  No  wonder  he  was  astonished,  my  boy,"  he 
said,  as  he  set  down  his  goblet ;  "  I  have  been 
in  active  newspaper  service  for  nearly  fifteen 
years,  and  your  elevation  from  the  ranks  is  the 
most  surprising  occurrence  in  my  recollection." 

"I  suppose  it  is  remarkable,"  commented 
Richard,  as  the  waiter  served  them  with  game 
that  had  been  strong  enough  to  break  the  law. 
"  I  haven't  quite  fathomed  it  myself." 

"  In  one  sense  it  is  simple  enough,"  continued 
Fenton.  "  '  To  him  that  hath  shall  be  given,' 
you  know,  'and  to  him  that  hath  not,'  etc.  If 
you  had  been  seeking  a  place  as  brevier  writer 
or  editorial  paragrapher  you  could  not  have 
obtained  it,  but,  presto,  it  comes  to  you 
unsought." 

"Tell  me  all  you  know  about  it,  Fenton," 
suggested  the  young  man  as  he  sipped  his  cof 
fee. 

"There  is  very  little  to  tell,"  answered  his 
companion  as  he  lighted  a  cigar  and  gazed  con 
tentedly  at  the  animated  face  before  him.  "  A 
newspaper  is  an  insatiable  beast.  Its  maw  is 
never  satisfied.  It  swallows  brains,  talent,  cul- 


28  The  Manhattaners. 

ture,  industry,  youth,  maturity,  wit,  wisdom,  with 
an  appetite  that  grows  with  what  it  feeds  upon. 
It  is  the  hungriest  monster  the  ages  have  pro 
duced,  and  its  food  is  human  lives." 

"  What  an  awful  picture  ! "  cried  Richard 
cheerfully.  "But  what  I  am  after  is  not  the 
status  of  a  newspaper  in  the  cannibalistic  realm, 
but  the  reason  for  my  being  given  a  desk  in  the 
editorial  rooms." 

"That's  what  I  was  coming  to,  Mr.  Impa 
tience.  But  you  must  let  me  get  at  it  in  my 
own  way.  Let  me  warn  you  against  impetuos 
ity,  boy,  and  that  awful  affliction,  vulgarly  called 
'  the  big  head.'  You  have  gone  up  like  a  rocket. 
You'll  come  down  like  a  stick  if  you're  not 
careful.  And  now,  as  to  the  cause  of  your  rise. 
Know  then,  my  young  friend,  that  in  the  news 
paper  field  men  who  can  make  epigrams  are 
rare.  Putting  a  column  of  fact  into  half  an 
inch  of  fireworks  requires  a  peculiar  cast  of 
mind.  It  may  be  said  of  paragraphers,  as  of 
poets,  that  they  are  born,  not  made.  Now, 
without  knowing  it,  you  gave  evidence  in  seve 
ral  of  your  news  stories  that  you  are  the  sev- 


The  Manhattaners.  29 

enth  son  of  a  forty-second  cousin,  and  can  sound 
the  well  of  truth  with  the  plummet  of  a  paradox. 
Mr.  Robinson,  who  is  an  argus-eyed  managing 
editor,  if  such  a  creature  ever  existed,  was  at 
tracted  by  your  sparkling  generalizations,  and 
made  inquiries  about  you.  He  sent  for  me,  and 
I  told  him  that  what  his  editorial  page  needed, 
above  everything  else,  was  a  boy-paragrapher. 
And  there  you  are." 

Richard  laughed.  "  I  am  exceedingly  obliged 
to  you,  Fenton.  I  have  noticed  that  calling  a 
young  man  a  boy  is  one  of  the  favorite  oc 
cupations  of  men  of  uncertain  age." 

"  Well  hit,  Richard,"  cried  the  elder  man, 
pushing  one  hand  through  his  iron-gray  locks, 
and  motioning  with  the  other  to  the  waiter 
to  refill  his  liqueur  glass  ;  "  I  like  your  —  your 
'spunk.'  Isn't  that  what  they  call  it 'Down 
East '  ?  Another  thing.  You  have  given  me 
a  very  conclusive  proof  that  I  am  fond  of  you. 
My  age,  you  know,  is  my  sensitive  spot.  Isn't 
it  curious  that  a  man  who  prides  himself  on  his 
devotion  to  pure  reason,  who  glories  in  the  fact 
that  two  and  two  make  four,  and  whose  life  is 


3<D  The  Manhattaners. 

spent  in  the  classification  of  facts,  and  the  pre 
sentation  of  truth  for  the  edification  of  the 
public,  should  hesitate  to  acknowledge  that  he 
was  born  on  a  certain  date  ?  Well,  never  mind  ! 
Even  the  greatest  men  have  flaws  in  their 
make-up,  Richard  —  and  I  have  mine." 

As  they  left  the  restaurant,  strolling  leis 
urely  toward  Broadway,  they  found  the  streets 
less  crowded  than  they  had  been  an  hour  be 
fore. 

"It  is  the  time,"  said  Fenton,  "  when  the 
city  rests  for  a  moment  from  labor,  and  pauses 
to  catch  its  breath  before  it  begins  to  dissipate 
—  the  interlude  between  its  work  for  earthly 
taskmasters  and  its  work  for  Satan." 

"  What  a  cynic  you  are,  Fenton  !  "  exclaimed 
Richard  almost  deprecatingly. 

"  Not  at  all,  my  boy.  I  will  tell  you  what  I 
am  some  day.  I  am  far  from  being  a  cynic  ; 
but  it  makes  me  sad  to  think  that  this  whole 
fabric  of  society  must  undergo  heroic  treat 
ment  before  any  real  progress  in  civilization 
can  be  made." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 


The  Manhattaners.  31 

"I  haven't  time  to  explain  just  now.  I  will 
give  you  a  few  books  to  read,  and  your  eyes 
may  be  opened  to  certain  truths  that  will 
change  your  whole  theory  of  life.  It  is  sel 
dom  that  I  try  to  make  a  convert  to  my  views, 
but  I  have  observed  surface  indications  on  your 
part  that  you  have  brains.  If  you  have,  the 
time  has  come  for  you  to  learn  that  you  live 
and  move  and  have  your  being  at  a  most  criti 
cal  time  in  the  world's  history.  We  are  on  the 
verge  of  great  events,  my  boy,  of  great  upheav 
als  and  vast  changes.  You  will  probably  live 
to  see  them.  I  may  or  I  may  not.  But 
whether  I  do  or  don't  will  make  little  differ 
ence  to  me,  or  to  the  world.  But  enough  of 
this.  I  must  get  down  to  the  office.  And 
you,  lucky  man,  have  the  evening  to  yourself. 
What  will  you  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  Go  to  hear  the  De  Reszkes  and  Melba  in 
'  Faust,'  I  think." 

"  Great  scheme  !  It  will  do  you  good.  It 
is  much  plesanter  watching  Mephistopheles  on 
the  stage  than  fighting  him  in  real  life.  I 
envy  you,  my  boy.  And  to-morrow  night  you 


32  The  Manhattaners. 

dine  with  a  millionnaire.  Be  careful,  Richard ; 
remember  Nathan  Hale." 

"  I  don't  see  the  point,"  remarked  the  youth 
thoughtfully. 

"  I  didn't  think  you  would,"  answered  Fen- 
ton  ;  "  but  don't  forget  to  come  to  me  to 
morrow  for  those  books.  I'll  tell  you  at  the 
same  time  what  I  know  about  the  Percy-Bart  - 
letts,  if  you  wish.  Good-night." 

Fenton  boarded  a  cable-car  going  down 
town,  and  Richard  Stoughton  strolled  moodily 
up  Broadway. 

"  Fenton's  a  curious  mixture,"  he  muttered 
to  himself.  "I  wonder  what  he  was  driving 
at." 


The  Manhattaners.  33 


CHAPTER   IV. 

"  I  FEAR,"  remarked  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett, 
looking  at  Richard  Stoughton  with  a  pleased 
expression  in  her  brown  eyes,  "that  you  stud 
ied  the  art  of  flattery  at  college  and  have  not 
yet  learned  its  worthlessness."  She  had  been 
singing  a  little  love-song  that  she  had  recently 
composed,  and  the  thrilling  melody  had  brought 
a  flush  of  pleasure  to  the  young  man's  face. 
Without  knowing  much  about  the  science  of 
music,  he  was  keenly  sensitive  to  its  influence. 

As  he  stood  by  the  piano,  looking  down  into 
the  smiling  face  of  the  most  beautiful  woman 
he  had  ever  met,  Richard  inwardly  blessed  the 
unexpected  telegram  that  had  called  Percy- 
Bartlett  away  to  his  club  before  the  coffee 
had  been  served  at  dinner.  At  the  time  of 
which  we  write,  the  financial  affairs  of  the 
nation  were  in  a  disturbed  state ;  and  Percy- 
Bartlett,  like  other  millionnaires,  felt  that  a 


34  The  Manhattaners. 

great  opportunity  had  presented  itself  to  him 
for  combining  patriotism  and  prudence,  by  giv 
ing  aid  to  an  improvident  nation  at  a  high  rate 
of  interest.  His  father  had  followed  such  a 
course  during  the  Civil  War.  Percy-Bartlett's 
financial  patriotism  was,  as  it  were,  hereditary, 
and  he  had  left  the  house  that  evening  with 
the  firm  determination  of  offering  a  tithe  of 
his  fortune  to  his  afflicted  government,  on  gilt- 
edged  security,  to  be  redeemed  by  posterity. 

"You  do  me  an  injustice,  Mrs.  Percy-Bart- 
lett,"  answered  Richard,  returning  her  smile. 
"  I  know  that  my  opinion  regarding  your  song 
is  of  no  great  value  from  a  technical  stand 
point,  but  I  can  readily  understand  how  glad 
the  publishers  are  to  get  your  work." 

Richard  had  learned  much  about  the  Percy- 
Bartletts  that  afternoon  from  John  Fenton. 
He  had  heard  of  the  husband's  prominence 
in  society  and  business  circles  and  in  club 
life,  and  of  the  wife's  devotion  to  music,  of 
her  talent  as  a  song-writer.  But  Fenton  had 
not  told  him  that  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  had 
brown  eyes  that  had  a  beseeching,  almost 


The  Manhattaners  35 

caressing  expression  at  times,  that  her  mouth 
was  rather  large,  but  wonderfully  symmetrical, 
and  especially  attractive  when  she  smiled  and 
showed  her  white,  even  teeth.  Fenton  had 
been  silent  also  regarding  her  brown  hair  — 
hair  that  curled  and  shimmered  and  waved 
with  a  coquettish  life  of  its  own,  and  gave  to 
Richard  Stoughton  an  almost  irresistible  desire 
to  stroke  it  with  his  hand.  That  she  had  a 
white,  firm  neck,  and  rounded,  dimpled  arms, 
and  long,  tapering  hands  that  were  worthy  a 
sculptor's  art,  his  friend  had  not  informed  him. 
Perhaps  Fenton  did  not  know  all  this. 

"  At  all  events,"  thought  Richard  to  himself, 
"  I'm  inclined  to  think  that  if  Fenton  could  see 
her  beauty,  although  he  might  admire  it,  he 
would  find  some  reason  for  saying  that  she 
had  no  right  to  it  —  that  so  much  of  it  as  she 
derived  from  her  handsome  ancestors  was  ill- 
gotten  gain."  Which  thought,  the  reader  will 
observe,  proved  that  Richard  had  been  skim 
ming  the  books  Fenton  had  given  to  him,  and 
had  come,  as  he  fondly  believed,  upon  certain 
arguments  that  seemed  to  him  to  be  founded 


36  The  Manhattaners. 

on  fallacy.  Stoughton  never  went  very  deeply 
into  any  subject  presented  to  his  attention. 
He  had  that  faculty  of  mind  which  enabled 
him  to  cover  a  good  deal  of  ground  at  a  glance, 
and  to  condense  into  showy  half-truths  the 
results  of  his  rapid  mental  processes.  It  was 
this  gift  —  a  dangerous  one  to  a  man  who 
wishes  to  make  a  solid  rather  than  a  glitter 
ing  success  of  life  —  that  had  suddenly  given 
him  a  prominent  place  on  the  Trumpet  as  the 
spiciest  paragrapher  the  editorial  page  had  had 
for  years.  And  it  was  this  faculty  applied  to 
the  airy  nothings  of  unimportant  conversation 
that  had  given  him  the  reputation  of  being  a 
wit  —  a  reputation  much  more  to  be  dreaded 
than  that  of  a  rake.  No  woman  fears  a  rake, 
but  she  has  a  deep-seated  dread  of  a  wit. 

"  But  come,  Mr.  Stoughton,"  said  Mrs.  Percy- 
Bartlett,  standing  up  and  looking  at  him  with 
mock  commiseration,  "  I  have  been  very  cruel 
to  inflict  my  music  on  you,  when  I  know  that 
you  are  dying  for  a  cigar.  Come  into  the  li 
brary  and  let  me  repair  my  lack  of  hospitality. 
Mr.  Percy-Bartlett  would  feel  that  he  had  com- 


The  Manhattaners.  37 

mitted  sacrilege  if  he  failed  to  smoke  a  cigar 
after  dinner." 

"  It  would  be  something  worse  than  sacrilege 
in  such  companionship,"  remarked  Stoughton, 
lighting  a  "  perfecto  "  and  seating  himself  op 
posite  his  hostess;  "it  would  be  folly." 

"There  can  be  no  folly,  Mr.  Stoughton,  after 
marriage,  you  know.  I  mean  in  our  set,  of 
course.  A  thing  is  either  good  form  or  bad 
form.  What  is  good  form  may  seem  foolish 
to  the  world  at  large,  and  what  is  bad  form 
may,  in  reality,  be  wise.  But  our  motto  of 
noblesse  oblige  has  absolutely  nothing  to  do 
with  folly  or  wisdom  in  the  abstract.  It  simply 
presupposes  an  obligation  on  our  part  to  ob 
serve  certain  canons  of  taste  and  habits  of 
life  that  have  no  relation  to  wisdom  or  folly, 
virtue  or  vice,  progress  or  retrogression.  You 
know  all  this,  though,  as  well  as  I  do." 

"  Only  in  a  general  way,"  answered  Richard, 
somewhat  surprised  at  her  earnestness.  He 
felt  that,  somehow,  she  was  tempted  to  treat 
him  in  a  more  confidential  way  than  the  du 
ration  of  their  acquaintanceship  strictly  war- 


38  The  Manhattaners. 

ranted.  "I  have  had  little  opportunity,  as 
yet,  to  study  the  different  phases  of  New 
York  society." 

"But,"  she  persisted,  her  face  slightly  flushed 
with  eagerness,  "  there  is  no  difference  in  the 
social  cult  of  the  most  exclusive  set  in  New 
York  and  that  which  dominates  the  inner  circle 
of  other  cities  in  what  we  might  call  the  east 
ern  belt  of  civilization.  That  awful  Franken 
stein  called  '  Bad  Form,'  a  monster  created  by 
society,  and  dogging  our  steps  at  all  times,  is 
not  confined  to  New  York.  Haven't  you  en 
dured  his  threatening  glances  in  your  New 
England  cities  ? " 

"Yes,"  confessed  Richard;  "I  know  the 
creature  —  and,  in  a  certain  sense,  I  suppose 
I  have  run  away  from  him.  I  came  here  to 
New  York,  against  my  father's  wishes,  that  I 
might  be  free  to  live  my  life  as  my  tastes  and 
inclinations  inspired  me,  not  as  a  select  few  in 
my  native  city  ordained  that  I  should  live  it." 

With  an  impetuous  gesture  Mrs.  Percy-Bart  - 
lett  placed  her  hand  on  his  for  an  instant  and 
blushed  slightly  as  their  eyes  met. 


The  Manhattaners.  39 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  I  feel  an  almost 
irresistible  inclination  to  tell  you  a  secret,  a 
secret  that  all  the  world  knows,  but  that  I  have 
not  yet  confessed  to  a  human  soul."  An  odd 
smile  played  across  her  mouth. 

"I  shall  feel  more  flattered  than  I  can  tell 
you,"  exclaimed  Richard  with  marked  emphasis. 

"Well,  then,"  went  on  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett, 
"  I  am  a  rebel.  Remember,  Mr.  Stoughton, 
that  this  is  the  first  time  I  have  ever  said  this. 
I  hardly  know  why  I  have  said  it  to  you ;  but, 
somehow,  I  feel  thoroughly  in  touch  with  you 
on  some  points,  and  you  seem  more  like  an  old 
friend  than  a  new  acquaintance." 

Perhaps  later  on  she  would  analyze  this 
feeling  more  thoroughly,  and  realize  that  she 
had  reached  a  crisis  in  her  life  when  an  attrac 
tive  man  in  the  first  flush  of  youth,  and  still 
possessing  a  freshness  of  view,  and  the  enthu 
siasm  of  newly  tried  powers  that  had  already 
won  recognition  from  the  world,  stimulated 
that  part  of  her  nature  that  the  atmosphere 
in  which  she  lived  tended  to  repress.  But,  for 
the  moment,  she  had  not  stopped  to  ask  her- 


4O  The  Manhattaners. 

self  why  Richard  Stoughton  attracted  her.  She 
had  simply  given  herself  up  to  the  fascination 
he  had  for  her,  and  had  left  to  the  future  the 
solution  of  the  problem  as  to  how  far  she  should 
allow  this  fascination  to  influence  her. 

"As  a  rebel,"  remarked  Richard  earnestly, 
"I  give  you  greeting.  I  think  I  understand 
your  revolt." 

"  I  know  you  do,"  she  exclaimed  with  en 
thusiasm.  "You  see,  it  is  perfectly  allowable 
for  me  to  cultivate  music  as  an  accomplishment ; 
but  to  take  it  seriously,  to  do  something  with  it, 
to  write  songs  that  people  outside  of  our  circle 
will  sing  —  that,  you  know,  is  bad  form.  I 
assure  you,  Mr.  Stoughton,  it  took  some  cour 
age  to  do  it." 

"  But  not  to  do  it  would  have  been  a  crime," 
said  Richard,  puffing  his  cigar  thoughtfully. 

"  But  a  crime  in  the  interest  of  the  canons  of 
good  taste  is  not  only  allowable  but  impera 
tive,"  returned  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett,  smiling. 
"You  must  understand  that  there  is  a  vast 
difference  between  having  your  name  in  the 
newspapers  as  being  one  of  the  best-dressed 


The  Manhattaners.  41 

women  at  the  Patriarchs',  and  being  referred  to 
as  a  composer  —  both  popular  and  promising." 

"  You  mean  that  society  would  condemn  you 
to  die  with  all  your  music  in  you  ? " 

"  Practically,  yes ;  but  I  refused  to  obey  the 
sentence.  Therefore,  I  am  a  rebel." 

She  arose,  and  he  followed  her  into  the 
music-room. 

"  Here's  a  little  thing,"  she  said,  striking  a 
few  chords  on  the  instrument,  "that  I  have 
never  sent  to  my  publisher." 

The  chords  ran  into  a  weird,  almost  barbaric 
prelude.  Then  she  began  to  sing.  She  had 
used  the  words  of  Heine's  little  gem  of  crys 
tallized  unrest :  — 

"A  pine-tree  standeth  lonely, 
On  a  far  Norland  height ; 
It  slumbereth,  while  around  it 
The  snow  falls  thick  and  white. 

And  of  a  palm  it  dreameth 

That  in  a  Southern  land, 
Lonely  and  silent  standeth 

Amid  the  drifting  sand." 

There  was  passion,  protest,  longing  in  the 
music,  and  the  refrain  died  away  and  came 
again  like  the  sobs  of  a  broken  heart. 


42  The  Manhattaners. 

Richard  bent  over  her  and  looked  into  her 
eyes,  dark  with  unshed  tears.  His  voice  trem 
bled  as  he  whispered,  — 

"  I  am  so  sorry  for  you." 

She  arose  and  stood  before  him,  a  peculiar 
smile  on  her  face. 

"Isn't  it  hard,"  she  said,  "to  distinguish 
between  the  real  and  the  unreal  ?  When  we 
go  together  into  the  unknown  land,  we  seem 
to  have  been  friends  for  ages  piled  on  ages. 
Then  we  come  back  to  reality,  and  I  sit  down 
here  and  we  talk  about  the  weather.  And  that 
of  course  is  much  better.  It  is,  you  know,  bad 
form  —  oh,  how  weary  I  am  of  the  phrase  — 
for  you  to  tell  me  that  you're  sorry  for  me." 

Richard  leaned  against  the  piano  and  looked 
down  at  her  thoughtfully. 

"  Yes  —  and  absurd.  Why  should  I  be 
sorry  for  you?  Suppose,  for  instance — and 
of  course  it  is  not  a  possibility  —  that  I  should 
tell  my  cynical  friend  Fenton,  of  whom  I  want 
to  talk  to  you  sometime,  that  I  had  met  a 
woman  young,  beautiful,  wealthy,  courted  by 
society,  wonderfully  accomplished,  a  musician 


The  Manhattaners.  43 

possessing  genius,  a  soul  sensitive  to  all  that  is 
noble  and  beautiful  in  life,  and  that  I  had  ex 
pressed  to  her  my  commiseration.  What  would 
he  say  ? " 

"Probably,"  suggested  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett, 
with  a  note  of  recklessness  in  her  voice,  "  your 
friend  Fenton,  if  he  is  a  man  of  the  world,  — 
and  he  probably  is,  as  you  call  him  cynical, — 
would  ask  you  if  this  unhappy  being  was  mar 
ried  or  unmarried.  If  you  told  him  she  was 
free"  — 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  he  would  advise  you  to  check  your 
sympathy  and  defend  your  own  freedom." 

"  And  if  I  said  that  she  was  married  ?  " 

"  He  would  say  that  you  must  have  known 
her  a  long  time  to  take  such  a  liberty."  The 
words  were  robbed  of  their  harshness  by  the 
smile  that  accompanied  them. 

"  Forgive  me,  please,"  he  pleaded,  bending 
over  her.  "  How  can  I  help  it  if  words  come 
unbidden  to  my  lips,  if  I  forget  that  I  have 
known  you  only  a  few  hours  ?  Won't  you 
absolve  me  before  I  go  ?  " 


44  The  Manhattaners. 

She  stood  up  and  gave  him  her  hand. 

"  I  have  forgiven  you,"  she  said.  "  It  was 
my  fault.  You  are  too  sensitive  to  music." 

Then  with  that  charming  inconsistency  that 
adds  so  much  to  woman's  fascination  and  to 
the  sorrows  of  the  world,  she  continued  :  — 

"  Have  you  an  engagement,  Mr.  Stoughton, 
for  Friday  night  ?  No  ?  I  should  so  much 
like  to  have  you  join  us  in  our  box  at  the 
Metropolitan  that  evening.  '  Sanson  et  Da- 
lila'  is  to  be  given  for  the  first  time  in  this 
country,  you  know.  Would  you  care  to  hear 
it  ? " 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you,"  he  said,  taking  her 
outstretched  hand.  "  How  much  pleasure  your 
invitation  gives  me  I  dare  not  tell  you — for 
fear  of  taking  a  liberty." 

She  smiled  merrily  at  his  little  shaft  of  sar 
casm,  and  he  left  her  with  the  roguish  light 
still  dancing  in  her  eyes. 

She  turned  and  walked  across  the  drawing- 
room  and  wandered  aimlessly  into  the  library. 
Soon  she  found  herself  seated  at  the  piano,  but 
there  was  no  comfort  there.  For  the  first  time 


The  Manhattaners.  45 

within  her  recollection  her  bosom  friend,  her 
confidante,  the  sharer  of  her  joys  and  sorrows, 
had  turned  false. 

Throwing  herself  down  upon  a  divan,  she 
buried  her  head  in  the  pillows  and  sobbed 
bitterly. 


46  The  Manhattaners. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"ONE  robbery  does  not  justify  another." 

So  said  Richard  Stoughton  to  John  Fenton 
as  they  sat  at  dinner  in  the  restaurant  of  the 
Astor  House,  while  the  wind  and  the  snow 
played  tag  up  and  down  Broadway,  and  men 
compared  the  blizzard  of  '88  with  the  storm 
that  was  then  raging,  and  incidentally  won 
dered  how  the  star-eyed  goddess  of  Reform 
enjoyed  cleaning  the  streets. 

It  was  Friday  evening,  and  Richard  was 
hurrying  his  dinner  that  he  might  reach  his 
rooms  in  time  to  dress  for  the  opera.  He  and 
Fenton  had  just  come  from  a  visit  to  a  ten 
ement  house  not  far  from  the  famous  hotel 
in  which  they  were  seated,  and  their  conversa 
tion  had  naturally  turned  upon  the  great  prob 
lem  suggested  by  the  sights  they  had  witnessed. 

"Come  with  me,"  Fenton  had  said  to  the 
younger  man  an  hour  before.  "  I  want  to 


The  Manhattaners.  47 

show  you  a  picture  that  will  make  a  striking 
contrast  to  the  scene  you  will  witness  at  the 
Metropolitan  to-night." 

Somewhat  against  his  will,  Richard  had  con 
sented  to  accompany  Fenton,  and  they  had 
found  a  family  in  a  garret,  starving  and  freez 
ing,  almost  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  City 
Hall.  It  had  been  a  painful  experience,  no  less 
to  Fenton,  whose  long  years  in  active  news 
paper  life  had  accustomed  him  to  the  phenom 
ena  that  vice  and  poverty  exhibit  in  a  great 
city,  than  to  the  younger  man,  whose  life  had 
been  spent  in  the  sunny  haunts  of  prosperity, 
and  who  knew  little  of  the  outward  aspects 
of  human  misery  beyond  what  his  imagination 
could  picture. 

"Explain  yourself,"  said  Fenton  rather 
sternly,  refilling  his  sherry  glass. 

"  What  I  mean  is  simple  enough,"  answered 
Richard.  "I  have  read  the  books  you  gave 
me,  and  I  acknowledge  they  have  presented 
a  startling  picture  of  the  horrors  that  result, 
seemingly,  from  the  unequal  distribution  of 
wealth.  I  think  I  am  even  willing  to  admit 


48  The  Manhattaners. 

that,  theoretically,  nobody  can  show  any  very 
satisfactory  claim  to  even  a  square  foot  of  the 
earth's  surface.  But  it  is  one  thing  arguing  in 
the  abstract,  and  another  looking  at  life  in  the 
concrete.  Granting,  for  instance,  that  my  an 
cestors  stole  land  from  the  Indians,  who  may 
have  taken  it  by  force  from  some  prehistoric 
race,  is  that  any  reason  why  those  who  believe 
in  a  new  method  of  taxation  should  wrest  my 
property  from  me  ? " 

A  smile,  both  sad  and  sarcastic,  lingered 
about  Fenton's  firm,  unsymmetrical  mouth. 

"  I  have  played  my  game  with  you  and  lost, 
Richard,"  he  said  at  length,  lighting  a  cigar, 
while  his  companion  sipped  a  demi-tasse  of 
coffee,  "  and,  on  the  whole,  I  am  not  sur 
prised.  Neither  am  I  especially  sorry.  The 
economic  theories  toward  which  I  was  trying 
to  direct  your  steps  are  not  such  as  lead  to 
peace  of  mind.  Had  you  become  an  enthu 
siast  in  the  great  crusade  for  the  introduction 
of  the  millennium,  you  would  have  grown  old 
before  your  time,  the  pressure  of  things  that 
are  would  crush  you  in  your  effort  to  hold  to 


The  Manhattaners.  49 

the  things  that  should  be,  and  I  would  have 
been  responsible  for  making  you  a  discontented 
and  restless  being  like  myself.  I  told  you  at 
the  outset  that  I  was  not  in  the  habit  of  trying 
to  make  converts  to  the  views  of  my  master. 
Why  I  experimented  with  you  I  can  hardly 
say.  I  hope  you'll  forgive  me." 

The  gentle,  affectionate  smile  on  Fenton's 
face  was  an  unwonted  visitor  to  that  stern 
countenance.  Richard  impulsively  put  out  his 
hand  to  his  friend. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  forgive,  old  man.  I 
realize  the  unselfishness  that  prompts  you  to 
long  for  a  change  in  the  conditions  that  beget 
so  much  human  suffering.  Don't  think  that  I 
am  so  heartless  that  the  scenes  we  have  just 
witnessed  do  not  affect  me.  They  do ;  and  I 
fully  understand  that  the  future  has  the  great 
est  problem  of  all  the  ages  yet  to  solve.  But 
you  cannot  wonder,  John  Fenton,  that  at  my 
age  and  with  my  prospects  it  is  hard  for  me 
to  take  the  whole  human  race  to  my  heart, 
and  try  to  remedy  wrongs  for  which  I  am  in 
no  way  responsible." 


5O  The  Manhattaners. 

Fenton  puffed  his  cigar  in  silence  for  a 
while.  Finally  he  said,  more  as  if  he  spoke  to 
himself  than  to  his  companion,  — 

"  Yes,  youth  is  so  strong ;  but  the  pleasures 
of  life  weave  their  web,  and  the  hour  of 
strength  goes  by !  To-night  youth  and  wealth 
and  beauty  will  gather  to  hear  an  allegory,  — 
an  allegory  centuries  old,  —  the  ancient,  impres 
sive  story  of  Samson  and  Delilah.  In  that 
vast  throng  will  there  be  one  who  reads  in  that 
old  biblical  legend  the  story  of  the  hour  ?  Will 
they  see  in  Samson  the  figure  of  American 
youth,  glorious  in  its  strength,  falling  a  victim 
to  the  wiles  of  the  temptress?  They  will  see 
this  same  man  of  power,  who  has  desecrated 
the  precious  heritage  intrusted  to  him,  blind, 
maddened  by  the  suffering  he  has  brought 
upon  himself,  pulling  down  in  his  frenzy  the 
gorgeous  structure  above  his  devoted  head ; 
and  they  will  go  away  to  their  clubs  and  ball 
rooms  and  supper-parties,  and  discuss  Mantelli's 
voice,  and  Tamagno's  conception  of  his  role. 

"  '  Oh,  let  the  striicken  deer  go  weep,  the  hart  ungalled  play, 
For  some  must  watch,  while  some  must  weep  —  so  runs  the 
world  away.' 


The  Manhattaners. 


The  older  I  grow,  Richard,  the  more  I  am 
amazed  at  Shakespeare's  thorough  grasp  of  hu 
man  nature  as  we  find  it  at  the  end  of  the 
nineteenth  century." 

Richard  arose  and  donned  his  overcoat. 

"Well,  John,"  he  remarked  smilingly,  "I'll 
compromise  with  you,  then  ;  I'll  read  Shake 
speare  instead  of  the  contemporary  writer  to 
whom  you  have  introduced  me ;  and  thus  your 
hope  for  my  redemption  may  still  be  kept  alive." 

Fenton  made  no  answer,  and  a  moment  later 
they  stood  at  the  door,  looking  through  the 
frost-covered  glass  upon  the  wind-swept  street. 
For  an  instant  they  hesitated  to  plunge  into 
the  wintry  blast.  Suddenly  Fenton  turned  to 
his  companion. 

"  How  did  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  impress  you, 
Richard?" 

The  unexpectedness  of  the  question  caused 
the  young  man  to  start  nervously. 

"  I  find  her,"  he  answered  hesitatingly,  "  a 
very  charming  woman." 

"Yes,  I  believe  you  do,"  returned  Fenton 
gruffly. 


52  The  Manhattaners.  " 

Then  he  pushed  open  the  doors,  and  made 
his  way  hurriedly  across  Broadway,  leaving 
Richard  Stoughton  standing  on  the  hotel  steps, 
gazing  wonderingly  at  the  retreating  figure  of 
his  eccentric  friend. 


The  Manhattaners.  53 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IN  spite  of  the  storm,  a  large  audience  had 
gathered  at  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House. 
The  first  rendition  of  Saint-Saens's  opera, 
"  Sanson  et  Dalila "  had  been  a  magnet  to 
the  multitude  that  can  endure  a  biblical  story 
if  it  is  presented  to  them  in  an  attractive 
setting.  As  the  irreverent  Buchanan  Budd 
had  whispered  to  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett,  "The 
Old  Testament  is  full  of  unused  librettos. 
But  it  is  strange  that  the  '  first  lesson '  of 
this  evening's  service  should  come  to  us  from 
wicked  Paris." 

The  Percy-Bartletts'  parterre-box  contained 
four  persons  as  the  curtain  arose,  the  stage 
showing  the  unhappy  Hebrews  mourning  the 
desertion  of  Jehovah,  and  the  afflictions  forced 
upon  them  by  the  priests  of  Dagon,  the  fish- 
god. 

Just    in    front   of    Richard    Stoughton    sat 


54  The  Manhattaners. 

Gertrude  Van  Vleck,  for  the  time  being  Mrs. 
Percy-Bartlett's  most  intimate  friend.  This 
means,  of  course,  that  they  confided  in  each 
other  in  a  gingerly  way,  and  spoke  of  each 
other  in  terms  of  enthusiastic  admiration  to 
third  persons. 

Gertrude  Van  Vleck  had  been  a  reigning 
belle  for  two  seasons.  Society  had  received 
her  with  a  good  deal  of  enthusiasm.  She 
was  rich,  handsome,  —  in  a  rather  striking 
style,  —  and  her  blood  was  as  blue  as  any 
that  a  new  country  can  produce.  But,  after 
her  first  appearance  as  a  debutante,  Gertrude 
Van  Vleck  had  not  been  especially  popular 
in  the  inner  circle.  She  had  had  many  suitors 
of  course,  but  her  indifference  to  their  woo 
ing  had  been  the  occasion  of  remark.  But 
this  was  not  all.  From  her  mother,  who  had 
come  from  an  old  New  England  family,  Ger 
trude  had  inherited  a  strain  of  Yankee  humor 
that  was  not  appreciated  by  the  set  in  which 
she  moved.  The  whisper  had  been  spread 
abroad  in  her  first  season  that  she  had  said 
several  really  clever  things,  and  a  good  many 


The  Manhattaners.  55 

conservative  people  had  considered  this  an 
erratic  tendency  on  her  part  that  was  dis 
tinctly  dangerous.  Society  did  not  feel  cer 
tain  that  Gertrude  Van  Vleck  might  not  at 
any  moment  perpetrate  a  witticism  that  would 
scratch  the  face  of  its  most  cherished  tradi 
tions.  The  worst  of  it  was  that  her  position 
in  society  was  so  firmly  established  that  she 
could  afford  to  indulge  her  appreciation  of  the 
ludicrous  and  her  inclination  to  look  at  things 
in  an  original  way.  Society  was  powerless  to 
discipline  her. 

Furthermore,  it  was  suspected  that  Ger 
trude  Van  Vleck  was  in  sympathy  with  the 
effort  of  woman  to  break  away  from  her  time- 
honored  subserviency  to  man,  and  to  do  a 
great  deal  of  independent  thinking  about  the 
problems  that  agitate  the  world.  She  had 
given  her  countenance  to  the  efforts  of  women 
to  turn  the  political  scale  at  the  last  election 
into  the  lap  of  reform, — whatever  that  elusive 
thing  may  be,  —  and  she  had  been  a  pioneer 
in  the  movement  that  had  gained  recognition 
for  the  bicycle  from  the  swell  set. 


56  The  Manhattaners. 

Richard  Stoughton  had  heard  something  of 
all  this;  and  he  found  himself  looking  at  Ger 
trude  with  considerable  curiosity,  while  the 
Hebrews  were  airing  their  woes  upon  the 
stage  —  woes  that  awakened  little  sympathy 
from  an  audience  that  knew  how  well  in  latter 
days  the  oppressed  race  has  triumphed  over 
all  obstacles,  and  has  placed  a  mortgage  on  a 
planet  that  has  practically  refused  them  a  na 
tive  land.  Richard  admitted  to  himself  that 
Miss  Van  Vleck  was  handsome,  that  her  eyes 
were  of  a  cerulean  tint  worthy  of  her  blood, 
that  her  dark  hair  was  strikingly  effective, 
that  her  white  neck  and  arms  were  well  cut. 
He  also  felt  that  nothing  too  bitter  to  please 
a  man  or  woman  of  sense  could  fall  from  a 
mouth  so  finely  shaped  as  hers. 

Nevertheless,  he  turned  from  the  contempla 
tion  of  Gertrude's  statuesque  beauty  to  glance 
at  the  softer,  but  equally  effective,  radiance  of 
Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett ;  and  their  eyes  met  for  the 
first  time  since  he  had  entered  the  box  Rich 
ard  felt  that  the  sympathy  that  had  seemed  to 
exist  between  himself  and  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett 


The  Manhattaners,  57 

at  their  first  meeting  was  not  a  dream,  but  a 
reality;  that  the  unrest  he  had  experienced 
since  he  had  looked  into  her  brown  eyes  on 
parting  with  her  a  few  nights  before  could  still 
find  relief  when  he  gazed  into  those  eyes  again. 
She  smiled,  and  leaned  toward  him. 

"  I  am  not  in  the  mood  for  oratorio,  as  this 
first  act  seems  to  be,"  she  whispered.  "  I'd 
rather  talk  to  you." 

Richard  bent  nearer  to  her.  The  perfume 
of  her  hair  thrilled  him  with  a  subtle  ecstasy. 

"  I  have  much  to  say  to  you,"  he  answered, 
"  about  —  about "  — 

"About  what?"  she  murmured,  smiling  at 
his  hesitancy. 

"  About  yourself.  Myself  —  the  last  few  days 
—  about  a  thousand  things  that  —  that  might 
bore  you." 

"Then  don't  say  them,"  she  remarked.  "I 
cannot  bear  to  be  bored." 

She  turned  to  look  at  the  stage,  and  Rich 
ard  felt  a  pang  of  annoyance  at  her  coquetry. 
Had  he  been  a  few  years  older,  a  bit  more 
experienced  in  the  ways  of  woman,  he  would 


58  The  Manhattaners. 

have  been  pleased  at  her  treatment  of  him. 
A  woman  does  not  waste  coquetry  on  a  man 
in  whom  she  is  not  interested. 

Buchanan  Budd  and  Gertrude  Van  Vleck 
were  good  friends.  As  there  had  never  been 
anything  warmer  in  their  acquaintanceship  than 
a  keen  appreciation  of  each  other's  mental 
alertness,  they  took  solid  pleasure  in  each 
other's  society.  Budd  was  a  rather  clever  fel 
low  by  nature  ;  but  he  had  never  let  his  clever 
ness  go  beyond  the  bonds  of  strict  propriety. 
Having  attained  a  much  higher  place  in  society 
than  his  parents  had  occupied,  he  conformed 
with  almost  religious  reverence  to  the  forms 
and  edicts  prescribed  by  the  leaders  of  the 
circle  in  which  he  occupied  a  somewhat  pre 
carious  position.  He  was  a  handsome  man, 
and  had  inherited  a  large  fortune ;  and  so 
society  had  overlooked  the  fact  that  his  imme 
diate  ancestors  had  been  in  trade,  and  had 
admitted  him  into  its  sacred  precincts.  Never 
theless,  he  had  never  felt  quite  assured  of  his 
position,  and  had  made  it  a  practice  to  walk 
in  the  very  narrow  groove  paced  by  the  leaders 
of  his  set. 


The  Manhattaners.  59 

"  Do  you  not  find  food  for  reflection  ? "  he 
whispered  to  Gertrude  Van  Vleck,  during  the 
second  act  of  the  opera,  "  in  this  unhappy  story 
of  woman's  interference  in  public  affairs  ? " 

She  turned  her  dark  blue  eyes  on  him,  and 
smiled  coldly. 

"There  are  women  and  women,"  she  re 
turned.  "  It  was  Samson's  weakness  that 
brought  disaster  to  himself  and  his  people." 

"  I  acknowledge  my  defeat,"  said  Budd 
humbly.  "  I  have  nothing  to  say  for  Samson, 
excepting  that  he  sings  rather  well." 

"That  is  graceful  of  you.  But,  frankly,  Mr. 
Budd,  you  don't  approve  of  woman  going  into 
public  life,  and  riding  the  bicycle  ?" 

"Whether  I  do  or  do  not  makes  little  differ 
ence,  Miss  Van  Vleck.  The  time  is  past  when 
the  opinion  of  men  regarding  these  matters 
has  any  weight.  The  wise  man  to-day  is  he 
who  frankly  acknowledges  that  he  is  no  longer 
a  lord  of  creation,  and  settles  down  to  suffer  in 
silence,  and  to  adapt  himself  to  the  new  condi 
tions." 

Gertrude's  eyes  twinkled  merrily. 


60  The  Manhattaners. 

"  What  a  sad  picture  ! "  she  exclaimed  under 
her  breath.  "  I  am  as  sorry  for  you  as  for  that 
poor  Hebrew  giant,  with  his  shorn  locks  and 
his  sightless  eyes.  But  I  am  very  glad,  Mr. 
Budd,  that  you  are  not  inclined  to  pull  down 
the  temple  about  our  heads." 

Richard  had  been  talking  to  Mrs.  Percy- 
Bartlett  about  John  Fenton. 

"You  interest  me  in  the  man,"  she  said 
earnestly.  "  I  have  a  vague  idea  of  having 
heard  Mr.  Percy-Bartlett  speak  of  him  as  a 
brilliant  but  eccentric  man  of  good  origin,  who 
cut  quite  a  figure  in  society  fifteen  or  twenty 
years  ago.  I  think  he  had  an  unhappy  love- 
affair  that  drove  him  into  dissipation.  Then 
he  squandered  his  fortune,  and  dropped  out  of 
sight." 

"I  did  not  know  all  this,"  said  Richard  mus 
ingly  ;  "  but  it  explains  several  things.  At  all 
events,  Fenton  has  exercised  a  great  fascina 
tion  over  me.  I  really  like  him  better  than 
any  man  I  have  met  in  New  York.  This  is 
the  more  peculiar,  as  I  am  not  in  sympathy 
with  any  idea  or  theory  that  he  propounds.  It 


The  Manhattaners.  61 

is  strange  how  we  are  drawn  to  or  repelled  by 
people,  without  being  able  to  explain  just  why 
we  like  one  man  and  detest  another,  why  one 
woman  makes  us  misogynistic,  and  another 
causes  us  to  forget  everying  but  the  heaven 
that  lies  in  her"  — 

Richard  hesitated. 

"  Well  ?  "  whispered  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett, 
glancing  up  at  him  rather  shyly. 

"The  heaven  that  lies  in  her  deep,  brown 
eyes,"  he  murmured  recklessly,  as  the  house 
broke  into  applause  after  a  thrilling  duet  be 
tween  Samson  and  Delilah. 

As  the  opera  neared  its  conclusion,  Mrs. 
Percy-Bartlett,  who  had  been  gazing  thought 
fully  at  the  stage  without  seeming  to  be  much 
impressed  by  the  drama  enacted  there,  turned 
to  Richard,  and  said, — 

"  I  am  to  have  a  small  musicale  on  Tuesday 
evening.  Do  you  think  you  could  persuade 
Mr.  Fenton  to  come  to  it  ? " 

Richard  looked  at  her  a  moment  in  silence. 
He  was  surprised  at  her  proposal. 

"  I  cannot  answer  for  him,"  he  said  at  length. 
"  He  is  very  eccentric." 


62  The  Manhattaners. 

"That  is  why  I  want  him  to  come,"  returned 
Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  stubbornly.  "  There  is 
something  in  his  career  and  in  his  personality, 
as  you  describe  it,  that  leads  me  to  try  an  ex 
periment  with  him." 

Richard  glanced  at  her  questioningly.  He 
did  not  quite  approve  of  her  at  that  moment. 
She  seemed  to  understand  the  expression  on 
his  face. 

"I  want  him  to  meet  Gertrude  Van  Vleck," 
she  explained,  smiling  at  him  frankly. 

Richard  returned  her  smile,  and  said,  "I 
will  bring  him  if  I  can ; "  then  he  added 
after  a  pause,  "but  the  age  of  miracles  has 
passed." 


The  Manhattaners.  63 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  HE  certainly  has  an  extremely  attractive 
face,  Harriet,"  remarked  Gertrude  Van  Vleck, 
looking  at  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  amusedly ;  "  but 
isn't  he  very  young  ? " 

"  Perhaps  he  is  in  one  sense,"  assented  the 
elder  woman,  striking  a  few  chords  on  the 
piano  impatiently.  "  But  he's  exactly  my  age 
—  and  I'm  very  old." 

Gertrude  laughed  and  settled  herself  com 
fortably  in  an  easy-chair  for  a  confidential  chat 
with  her  bosom  friend.  It  was  early  in  the 
afternoon  of  a  brilliant  winter  day,  and  the 
music-room  of  the  Percy-Bartletts'  house  was 
a  very  cosey  little  confessional  at  the  moment. 

"  I  wish  I  could  like  men  somewhere  near  my 
own  age,"  mused  Gertrude,  her  eyes  still  rest 
ing  thoughtfully  on  her  companion's  rather  dis 
turbed  face.  "  But  I  can't ;  there  really  seems 
to  be  something  fatally  wrong  in  my  inclina- 


64  The  Manhattaners. 

tions  and  disinclinations.  There  is  something 
authoritative  about  a  man  of  forty  that  pleases 
me.  But  in  our  set  the  men  at  forty  are  either 
married  impossibilities  or  confirmed  bachelors." 

Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  laughed  merrily. 

"  How  we  do  crave  contrasts,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  You  are  suffering  from  too  much  attention 
from  boys  just  out  of  college,  and  I  —  well,  I'm 
married  to  a  man  nearly  forty." 

"  After  all,  Harriet,  I  don't  believe  that  age 
has  so  much  to  do  with  it  as  we  seem  to  im 
ply."  Gertrude  clasped  her  hands  around  her 
knee  as  she  sat  leaning  forward,  and  looked 
up  at  her  friend  earnestly.  "  There  is  one 
thing  that  the  new  movement  among  the  women 
of  our  class  has  done.  It  has  tended  to  weary 
us  of  men  who  are  all  cut  on  one  pattern. 
Take  any  given  subject  of  any  importance  and 
ask  one  of  the  men  of  our  set  what  he  thinks 
about  it.  Dear  little  parrot,  he  will  repeat  to 
you  the  general  verdict  of  his  club  on  the 
question  at  issue,  without  the  slightest  suspi 
cion  that  he  is  a  mental  marionette." 

"  That  is  very  true,"   assented  Mrs.  Percy- 


The  Manhattaners.  65 

Bartlett  "  Perhaps  that  fact  may  explain  to 
you  why  I  enjoy  talking  to  Richard  Stoughton." 

"  Oh,"  cried  Gertrude,  her  face  displaying  an 
animation  that  it  seldom  exhibited  in  public. 
"  Then  he  is  not  yet  spoiled  by  the  churning 
process  ?  He  certainly  carries  himself  like 
other  society  men  of  his  age.  His  face  is 
brighter  than  the  average  youngster's,  but 
another  season  will  change  all  that." 

Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  swung  around  on  the 
music-stool  and  looked  earnestly  into  Ger 
trude's  face. 

"  He's  not  a  society  man,  my  dear  girl.  He 
could  have  the  entree  if  he  wanted  it.  His 
people  are  very  prominent  in  Connecticut,  and 
he  was  in  the  best  set  at  Yale.  But,  do  you 
know,  although  he  has  plenty  of  money,  he  is 
quite  ambitious  in  a  very  queer  line." 

"  Yes  ? "  questioned  Gertrude,  curious  re 
garding  her  friend's  feelings  toward  Richard. 

"  Yes.  He  is  a  newspaper  man.  He's  on 
the  Trumpet,  you  know,  and  has  been  wonder 
fully  successful  in  some  way  or  other.  He 
writes  awfully  bright  things  for  the  editorial 


66  The  Manhattaners. 

page.  Percy-Bartlett  says  that  it  is  a  most 
unusual  thing  for  a  man  as  young  as  Richard 
Stoughton  to  jump  at  a  bound  into  such  a 
prominent  position." 

"  A  newspaper  man.  Isn't  that  amusing ! 
I  never  met  one  before." 

"  Well,"  commented  the  musician,  turning 
around  and  drumming  softly  on  the  piano, 
"  there  is  one  thing  to  be  said  about  them ; 
they  have  to  be  bright,  or  they  couldn't  be 
newspaper  men." 

"That  is  a  very  sweeping  assertion,"  re 
marked  Gertrude,  smiling  in  amusement.  "  I 
wonder  if  it  applies  to  newspaper  women." 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  never  met  one,"  answered 
Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  coldly. 

"But  tell  me,"  persisted  Gertrude,  her  blue 
eyes  dark  with  mischief;  "what  are  you  going 
to  do  with  him  ?  " 

Almost  unconsciously  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  be 
gan  to  play  the  air  she  had  composed  to  Heine's 
poem  on  the  pine-tree  that  dreamed  of  the  palm. 
Suddenly  she  ceased  playing,  and  gazed  ear 
nestly  at  Gertrude. 


The  Manhattaners.  67 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said  at  length,  and  the 
roguish  light  died  out  of  Gertrude's  eyes. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Harriet,"  she  said 
very  seriously.  "  You  don't  mean  that  — 
that"  — 

"  I  mean  nothing,"  cried  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett 
rather  feverishly,  turning  to  the  piano  and  play 
ing  a  few  bars  of  the  latest  waltz  music.  Pres 
ently  she  turned  around  and  said,  — 

"  You  are  unkind,  Gertrude.  You  are  un 
married,  unengaged,  and  you  can  take  as  much 
interest  as  you  may  care  to  in  any  man,  married 
or  otherwise,  and  the  world  doesn't  stop  to  gos 
sip  about  you  —  that  is,  of  course,  if  you  don't 
go  on  in  a  scandalous  way.  But  let  a  married 
woman  show  the  slightest  attention  to  a  man 
who  is  not  her  husband,  and  everybody  begins 
to  whisper  and  nod  and  smile,  and  you  are 
lucky  if  Town  Tattle  doesn't  begin  to  hint  at 
another  divorce  in  the  inner  circle.  I  don't 
care  how  many  people  sing  my  songs  and  ad 
mire  my  music,  but  I  wish  they  would  stop 
talking  about  me.  Can  you  tell  me,  Gertrude, 
why  I  shouldn't  have  the  privilege  of  talking  to 


68  The  Manhattaners. 

—  to  Richard  Stoughton,  for  instance,  without 
being  gossiped  about  ? " 

"The  trouble  is,  you  know,  Harriet,"  an 
swered  Gertrude,  the  mischievous  gleam  re 
turning  to  her  eye,  "that  whatever  may  be  the 
case  with  marriage,  it  was  long  ago  decided 
that  Platonic  friendship  is  a  failure." 

"Perhaps  so,"  returned  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett 
rather  wearily.  "But  people  will  follow  it, 
ignis  fatuus  though  it  may  be,  to  the  end  of 
time." 

Gertrude  arose  to  go.  "Well,  Harriet,"  she 
said  softly,  bending  over  and  kissing  her  friend 
on  the  forehead,  "  don't  be  annoyed  at  anything 
I've  said.  I  certainly  have  the  warmest  sym 
pathy  with  your  disinclination  to  let  life  bore 
you." 

Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  arose  and  took  Gertrude's 
hand.  "  And  you  will  come  to  my  musicale  on 
Tuesday  night,  my  dear  ? " 

"Indeed  I  shall.  I  want  to  get  better  ac 
quainted  with  Mr.  Richard  Stoughton,  you 
know." 

At  that  moment  a  servant  entered  the  room 
and  handed  a  note  to  her  mistress. 


The  Manhattaners.  69 

"Excuse  me,  Gertrude,"  she  said,  and  open 
ing  the  envelope  read  the  following  words  from 
Richard :  — 

"  MY  DEAR  MRS.  PERCY-BARTLETT,  — The  miracle  has 
been  performed.  Mr.  John  Fenton  will  accompany  me 
to  your  musicale  on  Tuesday  evening.  Your  invitation 
will  reach  him  if  addressed  to  the  Press  Club." 

The  reader  smiled,  and  handed  the  epistle 
to  Gertrude  Van  Vleck. 

"And  who  is  John  Fenton?"  asked  Ger 
trude,  after  perusing  the  note. 

"  Oh,  John  Fenton,"  said  Mrs.  Percy-Bart- 
lett  gayly,  "John  Fenton  is  an  experiment." 


7O  The  Manhattaners. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"MEETING  strangers  at  a  musicale  is  not 
always  a  pleasant  experience.  If  you  are  mu 
sical,  the  people  bore  you ;  if  you  are  sociable, 
the  music  bores  you." 

So  John  Fenton  had  said  to  Richard  Stough- 
ton,  when  the  latter  had  made  his  first  effort 
to  perform  a  miracle  and  obtain  the  former's 
acceptance  in  advance  of  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett's 
invitation. 

"But  you  owe  me  this  reparation,  Fenton," 
Richard  had  urged.  "When  you  gave  me  those 
books  on  the  single-tax  theory  to  read,  did  I 
hold  off  and  say  that  if  I  was  indifferent  the 
books  would  bore  me,  or,  if  I  became  a  convert, 
I  would  bore  my  friends  ?  No ;  I  made  no 
excuses,  but  read  the  books.  Now  I  claim 
my  reward.  You  have  failed,  after  a  fair  trial, 
to  make  me  an  advocate  of  the  immediate 
establishment  of  the  millennium.  Let  me 


The  Manhattaners.  71 

now  have  an  equal  chance  of  persuading  you 
that  the  best  thing  to  do  is  to  take  the  world 
as  we  find  it,  and  enjoy  the  good  the  gods 
provide." 

The  two  men  were  spending  the  hour 
after  dinner  in  Fenton's  bachelor-apartments. 
They  had  fallen  into  the  way  of  dining 
together  whenever  they  were  both  free  to  do 
so ;  and  their  friendship,  having  withstood  the 
failure  of  Fenton's  effort  to  make  the  young 
man  an  economic  radical,  had  grown  warmer 
as  the  weeks  went  by.  In  several  ways  Fenton 
had  derived  considerable  benefit  from  his  close 
intercourse  with  Stoughton.  It  had  been 
remarked  in  the  city  room  of  the  Tnmtpet  that 
Fenton  had  given  up  drinking  cocktails,  and 
that  he  had  grown  particular  about  his  attire. 
He  no  longer  allowed  his  hair  and  beard  to 
show  signs  of  neglect ;  and  the  reporters  for 
the  paper  had  said  to  each  other  that  the 
assistant  editor  did  not  seem  to  be  quite  as 
sarcastic  and  testy  as  he  had  been  in  former 
times.  But  if  any  one  had  told  Fenton  that 
a  youth  not  long  out  of  college,  and  of  a  mental 


72  The  Manhattaners. 

make-up  that  was  dazzling  rather  than  con 
vincing,  had  been  the  active  cause  in  begetting 
certain  reforms  in  his  habits  of  life,  the  cynical 
and  time-scarred  journalist  would  have  consid 
ered  his  informant  insane.  The  strongest  men 
are  moulded  and  remoulded  by  their  friends, 
but  they  are  seldom  willing  to  acknowledge 
the  fact. 

After  Richard's  last  argument,  Fenton  had 
puffed  his  cigar  in  silence  for  a  time.  But  he 
was  not  thinking  of  what  his  companion  had 
just  said.  He  had  grown  convinced  from  sev 
eral  remarks,  dropped  inadvertently  by  his 
friend,  that  the  young  man  had  become  very 
much  interested  in  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett.  It 
was  not  within  the  possibilities  of  their  exist 
ing  friendship  for  him  to  question  Richard  very 
closely  on  this  point ;  but  he  was  extremely 
anxious  to  know  the  exact  truth  of  the  matter. 
If  he  went  to  the  musicale,  he  thought,  he 
could  see  for  himself  just  how  the  affair  stood, 
and  would  be  the  better  able  to  guide  his  own 
steps  in  the  premises.  It  had  been  his  pas 
sion,  when  a  young  man,  for  a  certain  married 


The  Manhattaners.  73 

woman,  that  had  ruined  John  Fenton.  He  had 
a  well-grounded  horror,  therefore,  of  seeing 
Richard  Stoughton  wrecking  himself  on  the 
same  rock  that  had  caused  his  own  down 
fall. 

"  You  have  stated  your  arguments  very  clev 
erly,  Richard,"  he  had  said,  after  a  time.  "You 
sacrificed  yourself  on  the  altar  of  my  books. 
I  will  reciprocate  by  throwing  myself  under 
the  juggernaut  of  your  musicale.  But,  under 
stand  me,  you  will  be  disappointed  in  the 
result.  Society  has  no  allurements  for  me.  I 
touched  it  at  all  points  years  ago,  when  I  had 
much  more  enthusiasm  than  I  have  now  ;  and, 
I  tell  you,  there  is  nothing  in  it  as  a  permanent 
amusement  for  a  man  of  sense.  What  is  a 
gathering  of  people  of  fashion,  at  its  best  ? 
Nothing  more  than  a  dress-parade  of  more  or 
less  well-groomed  men  and  women  who  revenge 
themselves  for  boring  each  other  in  public  by 
destroying  each  other's  characters  in  private." 

"  If  you  ever  have  time,"  suggested  Richard, 
smiling,  "you  should  write  a  novel,  John.  You 
have  a  way  of  scolding  the  universe  with  a 


74  The  Manhattaners. 

kind  of  epigrammatic  fervor  that  might  prove 
popular." 

"  You  flatter  me,  Richard,  by  the  implied 
conviction  that  I  have  not  yet  been  flippant 
enough  to  produce  a  work  of  fiction.  I  don't 
want  you  to  idealize  me ;  so  I  might  as  well 
confess,  that,  years  ago,  when  I  was  about 
your  age,  I  did  write  a  novel."  Fenton  looked 
at  Richard  with  an  expression  on  his  face  that 
would  have  fitted  the  confession  of  a  crime. 
Then  he  stepped  to  a  closet,  and,  after  rum- 
aging  around  for  a  while,  brought  forth  a  dust- 
covered  roll  of  manuscript. 

"  This,"  he  said,  "  is  one  of  the  little  grave 
stones  in  my  very  large  cemetery  of  dead  hopes 
and  dreams." 

He  brushed  the  dust  off  of  the  roll  with 
almost  reverent  hand. 

"I  haven't  looked  at  this  thing  for  years, 
Richard.  I'd  almost  forgotten  about  it,  until 
you  made  that  remark  about  my  writing  a 
novel.  I  have  a  sort  of  indistinct  idea  that, 
in  the  storehouse  of  your  ambitions,  you  have 
high  literary  aspirations,  more  or  less  concealed 


The  Manhattaners.  75 

from  view.  If  you  have,  let  this,  my  boy,  be 
a  warning  to  you  not  to  waste  your  time  on  a 
novel." 

Richard  had  been  looking  through  the  man 
uscript  with  an  unaffected  show  of  interest. 

"  You  call  it  '  Ephemerae,' "  he  remarked. 
"It  is  a  taking  title." 

"  But  it  didn't  take  the  publishers,"  returned 
Fenton,  whose  face  had  grown  unusually  ani 
mated  by  the  unexpected  revival  of  long-buried 
emotions.  He  had  put  a  good  deal  of  the 
energy,  enthusiasm,  and  vigor  of  early  manhood 
into  the  rejected  novel,  and  it  had  received  the 
minute  polish  that  his  life  of  leisure  at  that 
time  had  enabled  him  to  give  it.  How  bitterly 
disappointed  he  had  been  at  its  refusal  by  a 
leading  publishing  house  he  had  long  forgotten  ; 
but  the  present  moment  had  brought  back  to 
him  a  multitude  of  conflicting  emotions,  changed 
by  time  into  a  general  feeling  of  regret  and 
self-pity. 

"  My  writing  is  rather  blind,"  he  remarked, 
taking  the  manuscript  from  his  friend.  "  Let 
me  read  you  the  prologue  ;  not  for  publication, 
but  as  an  evidence  of  good  faith." 


76  The  Manhattaners. 

For  the  first  time  in  their  acquaintanceship, 
Fenton's  unsymmetrical  face  appeared  actually 
handsome  in  Richard's  eyes.  The  spirit  of  the 
past  that  lurks  in  the  relics  of  by-gone  years 
had  gently  spoken  from  the  dust-stained  manu 
script,  and  had  bidden  John  Fenton's  lost  youth 
to  gleam  again  in  his  eyes,  and  to  add  a  note  of 
enthusiasm  to  his  voice. 

"  It  was  a  strangely  pessimistic  piece  of  work 
for  a  man  as  young  as  I  was  at  that  time  to 
write,"  he  said  musingly.  "  But,  as  I  can  say 
now,  after  years  have  strengthened  my  judg 
ment,  this  novel  is  strong  and  artistic.  At  the 
time  when  it  was  sent  to  the  publishers,  there 
was  little  chance  for  the  acceptance  of  any 
thing  written  by  an  American  that  was  not 
strictly  moral  and  what  the  good  old  fossils 
of  that  day  were  so  fond  of  calling  'wholesome.' 
This  is  the  prologue,  Richard.  It  gives  the 
keynote  to  the  story." 

Fenton  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  read 
aloud  the  opening  words  of  his  novel  :  — 

"  It  was  not  a  pretty  fly,  but  it  loved  the  sun. 
It  rejoiced  in  the  power  of  its  wings,  the  length 


The  Manhattaners.  77 

of  its  antennae,  the  pulsing  health  of  its  little 
body.  It  was  summer,  and  the  fly  flitted  about 
in  the  warm  and  caressing  atmosphere,  as 
though  God  smiled  for  its  especial  pleasure. 

"  Oh,  the  glory  of  the  day  !  No  shadow  saw 
the  fly,  for  it  soared  so  high  that  nought  but 
the  golden  glory  of  a  smiling  universe  met  its 
gaze. 

"  But  when  the  day  was  done,  the  little  fly 
was  dead. 

"  It  never  knew,  the  joyous  trifler,  that  it 
was  only  one  of  a  group  of  neuropterous  in 
sects,  belonging  to  the  genus  Ephemera,  that 
live  in  the  adult  or  winged  state  for  a  single 
day,  and  die  when  the  darkness  falls." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  Then 
Richard  said  :  — 

"  I  feel  sure,  John,  that  if  I  had  picked  up 
a  novel  containing  that  prologue  my  curiosity 
would  have  been  piqued ;  that  I  would  have 
been  anxious  to  read  on  to  see  how  the  author 
had  made  his  story  harmonize  with  his  melan 
choly  text." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Fenton,  lighting  a  fresh 


78  The  Manhattaners. 

cigar,  and  rambling  on  musingly,  "  that  when 
I  conceived  the  story  I  was  actuated  by  the 
feeling  that  men  take  themselves  and  their 
affairs  too  seriously.  There  seemed  to  me  to 
be  something  grimly  ludicrous  about  the  vast 
majority  of  men,  who  fuss  around  for  a  few 
years  on  an  insignificant  planet  in  an  out-of- 
the-way  corner  of  space,  as  if  they  had  been 
placed  here  for  eternity,  and  were  individually 
of  tremendous  significance  to  the  universe  at 
large.  I  worked  out  the  story  on  lines  in 
tended  to  show,  in  a  comparatively  small 
compass,  that  we  are  as  powerless  and  unim 
portant  in  the  infinite  realm  of  existence  as 
the  foolish  little  flies  that  buzz  so  loud  on  a 
summer's  day.  If  I  should  re-write  the  story 
to-day,  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  I  should  take 
so  hopeless  a  view  of  the  significance  of  human 
life.  As  I  have  grown  older,  I  have  become 
more  inclined  to  think  that  no  man  has  a  right 
to  consider  himself  of  no  importance  in  the 
tout  ensemble  of  the  universe  ;  not,  at  least, 
until  it  is  proved  conclusively  that  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  a  soul  possessing  eternal  life. 


The  Manhattaners.  79 

At  all  events,  if  we  are  ephemera,  I  am  sure 
that  one  fly  has  as  much  right  as  another  to 
the  sunshine  of  the  noonday.  And  so  I  make 
of  an  economic  theory  a  religion,  —  for  want 
of  a  better."  Fenton's  sarcastic  smile  played 
across  his  mouth  again  as  he  ceased  speak 
ing. 

Richard  had  put  on  his  overcoat,  and  was 
holding  out  his  hand  for  the  manuscript  of 
Fenton's  novel. 

"  Let  me  take  the  story  with  me,  John," 
he  said.  "I  want  to  read  it.  I  am  rather 
inclined  to  think,  from  what  I  know  of  the 
present  literary  market,  that  now  is  the  ap 
pointed  time  for  you  to  win  fame  in  the  realm 
of  letters." 

Fenton,  after  a  moment's  hesitancy,  handed 
the  scroll  to  his  friend. 

"I  am  not  ambitious  in  that  line,"  he  said 
firmly ;  "  but  it  will  do  no  harm  to  have  you 
read  the  book." 

"And  you  will  go  to  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett's 
with  me  ?  "  Richard  exclaimed  smilingly.  "  I 
am  very  glad,  John,  I  assure  you.  I'm  sure 


8o  The  Manhattaners. 

that  our  hostess  will  feel  that  you  have  paid 
her  a  great  compliment." 

Fenton  smiled,  almost  bitterly ;  and,  as  if 
memory  had  sharpened  his  tongue,  he  said, 
as  he  held  Richard's  hand  a  moment,  — 

"  I  gave  that  up  long  ago,  my  boy.  Paying 
a  compliment  to  a  woman  is  like  giving  sugar 
plums  to  a  child.  It  establishes  a  precedent, 
and  begets  an  appetite.  Never  tell  a  woman 
a  thing  you  don't  mean,  Richard ;  especially  a 
married  woman." 


The  Manhattaners.  81 


CHAPTER   IX. 

"  MEN  used  to  be  divided  into  two  classes, 
you  know,  Mr.  Fenton, — those  who  belonged 
to  our  set,  and  those  who  did  not." 

Gertrude  Van  Vleck  and  John  Fenton  had 
retired  to  a  remote  corner  of  Mrs.  Percy-Bart- 
lett's  drawing-room,  and  were  keeping  up  as 
animated  a  conversation  as  the  depressing  in 
fluences  of  a  musicale  permit.  In  evening 
dress,  Fenton  was  a  man  of  a  most  impres 
sive  presence.  He  had  come  to  Mrs.  Percy- 
Bartlett's  musicale  expecting  to  be  bored.  The 
expression  on  his  strong,  thoughtful  face,  as  he 
gazed  smilingly  at  the  handsome,  aristocratic- 
looking  girl  beside  him,  proved  that  she  had 
followed  in  Richard  Stoughton's  footsteps,  and 
had  performed,  a  miracle. 

"  And  what  is  the  distinction  that  you  your 
self  make,  Miss  Van  Vleck  ?  "  asked  Fenton. 

She  looked  at  him  earnestly  a  moment. 


82  The  Manhattaners. 

"  To  me,"  she  answered,  "  there  are  two 
kinds  of  men,  —  those  who  interest  me,  and 
those  who  do  not." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Fenton,  taking  advantage  of 
an  interlude  in  the  music-room,  "  perhaps  it  is 
inconsiderate  on  my  part  to  ask  the  question, 
but  I  acknowledge  that  I  am  curious  to  know 
what  ratio  exists  between  the  men  who  interest 
you  and  the  men  who  do  not." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  put  the  problem 
on  a  mathematical  basis,"  answered  Gertrude, 
an  amused  smile  playing  across  her  face.  "  I 
am  inclined  to  think  that  the  ratio  changes 
from  year  to  year." 

"  To  your  advantage  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I'm  afraid  not.  As  time  goes  on  I  find 
that  I  meet  more  men  who  do  not  interest 
me  and  fewer  who  do.  But  there  is  compen 
sation  for  this  in  the  fact  that  women  have 
grown  more  attractive  to  each  other  than  they 
used  to  be." 

An  enthusiastic  soprano  was  at  the  moment 
striking  certain  high  notes  as  though  she  had 
a  grudge  against  them,  and  Fenton  was  obliged 
to  pause  a  moment  before  he  asked,  — 


The  Manhattaners.  83 

"  Won't  you  explain  that  to  me,  Miss  Van 
Vleck  ?  It  is,  as  you  put  it,  a  novel  idea." 

"Why,  don't  you  see,"  she  said  earnestly, 
"  the  very  fact  that  women  are  joined  together 
in  a  protest  against  ancient  customs  and  pre 
judices  has  drawn  them  closer  to  each  other ; 
while,  at  the  same  time,  it  has  tended  to  bring 
out  the  most  characteristic  qualities  of  each  in 
dividual  woman.  In  a  word,  we  women  inter 
est  each  other  more  as  rebels  than  we  did  as 
slaves." 

Again  the  soprano  uttered  her  protest  against 
peace  and  quiet,  and  Fenton  had  an  opportunity 
to  weigh  Gertrude  Van  Vleck's  words.  His 
vis-a-vis  was  a  social  product  the  like  of  which 
had  not  existed  in  the  days  when  he  had  been 
a  member  of  New  York's  inner  circle,  and  had 
expected  from  a  young  unmarried  woman  noth 
ing  in  a  conversational  way  that  would  chal 
lenge  thought.  Of  course,  in  his  journalistic 
occupation  he  had  been  obliged  to  follow  in 
detail  the  progress  of  woman  toward  a  broader, 
perhaps  higher,  plane  of  endeavor ;  but  this  was 
the  first  time  that  Fenton  had  come  face  to 


84  The  Manhattaners. 

face  with  the  new  ideas  incarnate.  He  was 
entertained,  stimulated,  inspired,  by  the  expe 
rience.  At  first  he  had  looked  upon  Gertrude 
Van  Vleck  simply  as  a  finely  developed  speci 
men  of  the  patrician  type,  whose  dark  hair, 
deep  blue  eyes,  and  finely  rounded  neck  formed 
a  combination  very  pleasing  to  the  eye,  and 
indicated  a  remote  Spanish  strain  mingling 
with  her  Dutch  blood.  But  after  a  few  mo 
ments  in  her  companionship,  he  had  discovered 
that  she  not  only  satisfied  his  aesthetic  nature, 
but  piqued  his  intellectual  make-up.  She  had 
given  him  the  highest  pleasure  that  one  mind 
can  bestow  upon  another,  by  opening  up  new 
vistas  of  thought  to  him. 

John  Fenton  had  reached  that  period  of  a 
life  that  had  been  filled  with  disappointments 
when  feminine  sympathy  and  appreciation  are 
among  the  few  things  left  in  the  world  that 
are  wholly  satisfying.  Perhaps  it  was  this  very 
fact  that  had  led  him  to  make  a  friend  of 
Richard  Stoughton,  a  youth  whose  quick  intui 
tions  and  mental  alertness  had  much  in  them 
that  was  feminine. 


The  Manhattaners.  85 

There  was,  furthermore,  a  note  of  defiance 
in  Gertrude's  last  remark  that  struck  a  sym 
pathetic  chord  in  Fenton's  nature.  No  man  can 
accept  the  premises  upon  which  the  economic 
theories  to  which  Fenton  had  subscribed  are 
based  without  developing  the  rebellious  ten 
dencies  that  lie  more  or  less  dormant  in  all 
men.  For  the  first  time,  the  similarity  im 
pressed  him  that  exists  between  woman's  re 
volt  against  the  oppression  of  man,  and  man's 
restlessness  under  the  threatening  inequalities 
of  wealth. 

"And  as  rebels  women  are  much  more  at 
tractive  to  men  than  they  were  as  conformists," 
remarked  Fenton,  seizing  an  opportunity  to 
resume  the  conversation,  after  a  self-satisfied 
tenor  had  proved  to  his  own  satisfaction  that 
he  had  a  divine  right  to  be  conceited  about 
his  voice.  "To  use  a  rather  shop-worn  quo 
tation,  'Blessings  brighten  as  they  take  their 
flight.'  " 

"But  that  is  not  a  fair  illustration,"  ex 
claimed  Gertrude  earnestly.  "  We  are  not  try 
ing  to  fly  away  from  men,  but  to  fly  with  them." 


86  The  Manhattaners. 

"That  may  be  true,"  said  Fenton,  smiling 
thoughtfully ;  "  but  men  are  naturally  startled 
at  the  suddenly  displayed  power  of  your  wings, 
and  are  a  little  shy  at  first." 

"Why  should  they  be?  After  all,  I  be 
lieve  that  the  underlying  ambition  of  the  new 
woman  —  as  she  is  rather  vulgarly  called  —  is 
to  make  herself  intellectually  attractive  to  the 
brightest  men." 

"Then  the  progress  of  woman  has  not  de 
creased  the  social  importance  of  the  clever 
man?"  asked  Fenton  humbly. 

"On  the  contrary,  Mr.  Fenton,  it  has  en 
hanced  it  —  by  giving  him  a  larger  and  more 
appreciative  audience.  The  man  of  mental 
power  would  hold  a  higher  place  in  a  com 
munity  containing  many  Mesdames  de  Stael 
than  in  a  social  circle  possessing  only  one. 
Is  it  not  so  ? " 

"  Do  you  know,  Miss  Van  Vleck,"  said  Fen 
ton,  not  answering  her  question  directly,  "  that 
I  begin  to  think  that  I  shall  owe  you  a  great 
debt  of  gratitude  ? " 

A  slight  tinge  of  red  mounted  to  her  face  as 


The  Manhattaners.  87 

her  eyes  met  his.  He  impressed  her  as  a  man 
more  fitted  to  bestow  favors  than  to  accept 
them. 

"I  don't  quite  understand  you,"  she  said 
softly. 

"We  owe  much,"  he  continued,  "to  those 
who  take  us  out  of  our  mental  grooves  and 
give  us  a  new  standpoint  from  which  to  view 
the  world.  There  may  be  a  good  deal  of  self 
ishness  in  occupying  one's  mind  entirely  with 
man's  inhumanity  to  man,  and  blinding  our 
selves  to  man's  inhumanity  to  woman.  I  have 
to  thank  you  for  a  new  point  of  view." 

"But,"  protested  Gertrude,  "I  have  said 
nothing  that  we  do  not  read  in  print  every 
day." 

"Even  if  that  is  so,"  said  Fenton,  "truths 
that  would  make  no  impression  on  me  if  I 
read  them  on  an  editorial  page  come  to  me 
with  startling  force  when  you  present  them.  I 
repeat,  that  I  owe  you  a  debt  of  gratitude." 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett's  voice, 
a  rich,  highly-cultivated  contralto,  was  heard, 
giving  passionate  expression  to  Heine's  mourn- 


88  The  Manhattaners. 

ful  little  story  of  the  pine  that  dreamt  of  love. 
Richard  Stoughton  stood  at  the  entrance  to 
the  music-room,  forgetful  of  the  crowd  around 
him.  There  was  something  in  her  voice  that 
seemed  to  be  meant  for  him  alone,  something 
that  told  him  she  was  thinking  of  the  night 
when  she  had  first  sung  the  song  to  him.  "  I 
must  be  growing  wofully  egotistic,"  he  thought ; 
but  at  that  instant  their  eyes  met,  and  his 
self-depreciation  vanished. 

She  came  to  him  after  the  applause  had  died 
away,  and  called  his  attention  to  an  unoccupied 
corner  of  the  drawing-room. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  she  said  simply. 
"Come!" 

"Do  you  know,"  she  began  playfully,  after 
they  were  seated,  "  I  have  begun  to  feel  a  good 
deal  awed  in  your  presence.  A  man  who  can 
perform  miracles,  you  know"  — 

"Well?"  exclaimed  Richard,  as  she  hesi 
tated  a  moment. 

"A  man  who  can  perform  miracles  is  to  be 
avoided.  Just  think  of  poor  Trilby  and  Sven- 
gali." 


The  Manhattaners.  89 

Richard  laughed  outright. 

"  That  is  a  most  complimentary  remark  !  If 
I  follow  you,  you  mean  that  I  hypnotized 
John  Fenton.  I  certainly  feel  flattered.  But, 
do  you  know,  I  begin  to  suspect  that  your 
friend,  Miss  Van  Vleck,  will  prove  a  much 
more  successful  medium  than  I  ? " 

They  both  glanced  at  Gertrude  and  John 
Fenton,  who  were  deep  in  conversation  in  the 
opposite  corner  of  the  drawing-room. 

"I  am  very  glad  that  all  responsibility  for 
the  man's  future  has  been  taken  off  of  my 
hands,"  said  Richard.  "  The  fact  is,  I  feel 
that  I  have  all  that  I  can  do  to  take  care  of 
myself." 

He  looked  into  her  eyes  with  an  expression 
in  his  own  that  was  hardly  allowable  —  even 
at  a  musicale. 

"  How  selfish  a  man  is,"  Mrs.  Percy-Bart- 
lett  murmured  musingly.  "  It  is  almost  im 
possible  for  him  to  be  a  consistent  friend  to 
another  man.  How  much  less  is  he  able  to 
be  a  true  friend  to  a  woman." 

"  The   basis  of  all   friendship  is  affection," 


The  Manhattaners. 


argued  Richard,  lowering  his  voice  as  the 
music  of  a  'cello  crept  softly  through  the 
room.  "  And  affection  is  a  very  hard  thing 
to  hold  in  check." 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  smile  on  her 
lips,  but  an  expression  of  sadness  in  her  elo 
quent  brown  eyes. 

"  It  is,  indeed  !  "  she  almost  whispered. 
Then,  as  if  regretting  the  admission,  she 
leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  seemed  to  listen 
to  the  soft,  throbbing  harmonies  that  the  piano 
and  the  'cello  begot  as  their  tones  met  and 
mingled,  as  though  they  caressed  each  other. 

Richard  bent  forward,  and  their  eyes  met 
again. 

"Do  you  reject  my  —  my  friendship?"  he 
whispered. 

Suddenly  he  felt  her  hand  in  his  ;  and  she 
smiled  as  he  pressed  it,  while  her  eyes  bright 
ened,  and  her  cheeks  flushed.  Withdrawing 
her  hand,  she  said,  her  voice  hardly  audible 
even  as  he  bent  his  face  close  to  hers  :  — 

"  Remember  that  there  is  another  founda 
tion-stone  to  friendship  :  it  is  unselfishness." 


The  Manhattaners.  91 

The  words,  and  the  pleading  tone  in  which 
they  were  uttered,  combined  to  make  her  re 
mark  sound  more  like  a  prayer  to  his  gener 
osity  than  a  statement  founded  on  a  time-worn 
truth. 

"  I  will  try,"  whispered  Richard  earnestly, 
"  I  will  try  to  be  an  ideal  friend  to  you.  I 
would  rather  have  your  friendship  than  the 
love  of  any  other  woman  in  the  world." 

She  smiled  up  at  him  gratefully,  as  though 
he  had  made  a  great  sacrifice  for  her  happi 
ness.  They  say  that  Love  is  blind.  Perhaps 
that  is  the  reason  that  the  little  rascal  is 
such  a  consummate  liar.  How  can  one  expect 
a  sightless  imp,  whose  domain  is  youth,  and 
whose  throne  is  the  heart,  to  wield  his  scep 
tre  with  absolute  respectability  ?  If  he  could 
see  further,  Cupid  might  behave  better  as  a 
monarch  ;  but  the  chances  are,  in  that  case, 
that  he  would  be  compelled  to  abdicate. 

The  hour  was  waxing  late. 

"  I  must  resume  my  duties,"  said  Mrs.  Percy- 
Bartlett  reluctantly  ;  "  and  abandon  my  friend 
for  the  sake  of  my  guests.  Will  you  come 


92  The  Manhattaners 

to  see  me  soon?  Let  me  see — a  week  from 
to-night  I  have  no  engagement.  Will  you 
come  and  talk  to  me  of  friendship  ?  " 

"  Very  gladly,"  murmured  Richard,  touching 
her  willing  hand  again.  "  Until  then  I  shall 
not  live,  but  dream  !  " 

Richard  and  Fenton  strolled  together  down 
the  avenue,  silent  and  self-absorbed.  Finally 
the  former  asked,  — 

"Did  you  have  a  pleasant  evening,  John?" 

"  Very,"  answered  Fenton  gruffly. 

They  walked  for  half  a  block  before  they 
spoke  again. 

"  The  music  was  well  done,"  ventured  Richard. 

"  Yes,"  assented  Fenton.  Neither  of  the 
two  again  opened  their  lips  until  they  reached 
the  cross-street  at  which  they  were  to  part. 

"Good-night,  John,"  said  Richard,  holding 
out  his  hand. 

"  Good-night,  boy  !  See  you  to-morrow," 
exclaimed  Fenton  hurriedly.  Then  he  walked 
onward  alone. 

"  I  went  there,"  he  was  saying  to  himself, 
"to  get  a  line  on  the  youngster's  affair.  But 


The  Manhattaners.  93 

the  cold,  hard  fact  is  that  I  forgot  all  about 
him."  .  .  . 

At  that  same  moment  Percy-Bartlett  and 
Buchanan  Budd  were  smoking  their  good-night 
cigars  together  at  the  club. 

"It  is  really  too  bad,"  Budd  was  saying, 
"  that  the  newspapers  have  been  able  to  print 
so  much  scandal  about  our  set.  But  I  suppose 
there  is  no  way  to  prevent  it." 

"  But  there  is  a  way,"  returned  Percy-Bartlett 
almost  sternly.  "What  we  need  in  the  inner 
circle  is  more  heroism  and  less  heroics.  If 
noblesse  oblige  means  anything  at  all  in  these 
days,  it  demands  of  those  who  live  up  to  its 
behests  that  they  be  self-contained,  not  hyster 
ical.  There  is  no  necessity  for  a  domestic 
tragedy  getting  into  print  if  the  man  or  woman 
who  is  wronged  is  fundamentally  worthy  of  a 
place  in  the  most  select  coterie  on  earth." 

"You  would  rather  wink  at  crime  than  have 
the  public  gossip  about  you,  then  ? "  asked  Budd. 

"  I  would  —  a  thousand  times  !  "  answered 
Percy-Bartlett,  throwing  away  his  cigar  and 
saying  "  good-night  "  cheerily. 


94  The  Manhattaners. 


CHAPTER   X. 

"  I  AM  not  in  the  mood  for  listening  to  the 
confessions  of  a  frivolous  boy,"  remarked  John 
Fenton,  looking  up  from  his  desk  in  the  city 
room  of  the  Trumpet  at  Richard  Stoughton  on 
the  afternoon  following  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett's 
musicale. 

"Don't  be  cross  with  me,  John,"  implored 
Richard  gently ;  "  I  have  no  intention  of  worry 
ing  you  with  my  peccadilloes.  But  I  want  you 
to  look  in  on  me  for  an  hour  after  dinner.  I 
really  have  a  very  important  matter  I  want  to 
talk  to  you  about.  You  aren't  on  duty  to 
night,  are  you?" 

"No,"  answered  Fenton,  with  apparent  re 
luctance.  Then  he  hesitated  a  moment,  and 
finally  said,  — 

"  Very  well,  Richard.  I'll  do  you  the  great 
honor  of  calling  on  you  about  half  after  seven. 
But  I  give  you  fair  warning,  if  you  begin  to 
bore  me,  I  shall  fly  at  once." 


The  Manhattaners.  95 

"  It's  a  bargain  !  "  exclaimed  the  youth,  as  he 
turned  away. 

Richard  occupied  a  rather  luxurious  suite  of 
bachelor-apartments  on  a  side-street  not  very 
far  up-town.  As  he  sat  before  an  open  fire 
after  dinner  that  evening  awaiting  the  arrival 
of  John  Fenton,  he  felt  thoroughly  contented 
with  himself  and  the  world  at  large.  He  had 
come  to  New  York  unknown  and  unheralded, 
and  lo !  the  great  city,  so  indifferent  to  the 
advent  of  most  strangers,  had  opened  its  arms 
to  him,  had  patted  him  on  the  back,  had  told 
him  that  he  was  clever,  and  therefore  welcome. 
The  great  metropolis  has  an  insatiable  hunger 
for  able  men  in  all  lines  of  life,  but  it  is  often 
blind  for  many  years  to  the  merits  of  certain 
citizens  who  need  only  an  opportunity  to  be 
come  prominent.  Once  in  a  great  while,  how 
ever,  it  seizes  a  very  young  man  by  the  collar 
of  his  coat,  as  it  were,  and  thrusts  him  forward 
in  some  field  of  endeavor,  and  the  multitude  of 
older  men  who  have  failed  to  take  advantage 
of  their  life-tide  at  its  flood,  look  on  with  min 
gled  amazement  and  envy  at  the  lucky  youth. 


96  The  Manhattaners. 

Chance  had  thrown  Richard  Stoughton  into 
the  front  ranks  of  journalism  ;  and  as  he 
watched  the  flickering  blaze  before  him,  or 
followed  the  smoke  from  his  cigar  with  his 
eye,  he  felt  that  he  was  worthy  of  the  position 
he  held,  and  that  the  metropolis  had  not  made 
a  blunder  when  it  had  picked  him  out  as  one 
entitled  to  applause. 

The  door  behind  Richard  opened  softly,  and 
John  Fenton  entered  the  room  and  quietly 
seated  himself  at  the  other  side  of  the  fire 
place. 

"  Have  a  cigar,  John,"  said  the  youth,  de 
serting  his  air-castles  for  the  stern  realities 
that  Fenton  always  seemed  to  carry  with  him. 
Turning  to  offer  his  guest  a  light,  Richard  was 
surprised  to  see  that  Fenton  was  garbed  in 
evening  dress.  "  My  miracle  is  taking  on  a 
chronic  form,"  he  said  to  himself.  Then  aloud 
he  remarked,  — 

"  I  thank  you,  John,  for  not  disappointing 
me.  I  have  several  weighty  problems  on  my 
mind,  and  you're  the  only  man  of  my  acquaint 
ance  who  can  help  me  out." 


The  Manhattaners.  97 

Fenton  puffed  away  silently  for  a  few  mo 
ments. 

"Go  on,"  he  said  at  length,  rather  coldly. 
"You  want  to  talk  to  me  about — what?" 

"  About  the  single-tax  theory,  John,  as  ap 
plied  to  affairs  of  the  heart." 

Fenton  glanced  sternly  at  his  companion,  but 
there  was  no  sign  of  mischief  on  Richard's 
face.  He  was  gazing  at  the  fire  as  though  try 
ing  to  read  in  the  dancing  flames  the  answer 
to  the  riddle  that  annoyed  him. 

"  Explain  yourself,"  said  Fenton  suspiciously. 

"Well,"  went  on  Richard  with  studied  calm 
ness,  "you  see,  I  am  trying  to  get  into  touch 
with  all  the  new  ideas  that  have  a  marked  in 
fluence  on  the  life  of  our  times.  I  am,  how 
ever,  especially  interested  in  watching  the 
effect  of  theories  on  the  actions  of  my  friends. 
It's  almost  a  new  science,  I  think.  I  must 
look  up  some  Greek  roots  and  give  it  a  name. 
Perhaps  I'll  go  down  to  fame  as  the  inventor 
of  a  new  and  very  useful  line  of  study." 

"What  are  you  attempting  to  get  at,  Rich 
ard?"  exclaimed  Fenton,  twisting  around  un- 


98  The  Manhattaners. 

easily  in  his  chair  and  trying  to  obtain  a  clear 
view  of  the  young  man's  face. 

"  That's  not  the  point,  John.  The  question 
is,  what  are  you  striving  to  accomplish  ?  You 
see,  I  have  been  doing  a  good  deal  of  uncon 
scious  cerebration  in  regard  to  your  single-tax 
ideas,  and  I  have  reached  a  point  where  I 
should  like  to  ask  a  few  more  questions  regard 
ing  the  demands  that  your  belief  makes  on 
your  habits  of  life.  Now,  you  know,  our  good 
old  Puritan  ancestors  were  fond  of  looking  upon 
this  world  as  'a  vale  of  tears.'  You  single- 
tax  people  go  a  step  farther,  and  call  it  '  a  den 
of  thieves.' " 

"  Come,  Richard,"  said  Fenton  firmly,  "  don't 
be  flippant." 

"The  very  last  thing  that  I  feel  inclined  to 
be,  John.  I'm  in  sober  earnest.  Let  me  ask 
you  a  question.  You  consider,  of  course,  a 
man  who  collects  rents  from  property  he  holds 
in  this  city  from  his  ancestors  a  receiver  of 
stolen  goods  ? " 

"Well,  what  if  I  do?"  asked  Fenton  testily. 

"  I  was  curious  to  know,  that's  all." 


The  Manhattaners.  99 

"And  what  if  I  say  that  I  do?"  persisted 
Fenton  at  length,  in  a  more  amenable  tone 
of  voice. 

"Well,  if  you  do,  would  you  make  a  bosom 
friend  of  a  son  of  this  receiver  of  stolen  goods, 
who  will,  in  all  likelihood,  come  into  the  booty 
after  a  time,  and  whose  blood  is  tainted  by  his 
descent  from  a  line  of  land-pirates  ?  " 

"  Nonsense,  Richard  !  I  don't  see  the  use  of 
putting  those  questions  to  me  —  just  at  this 
time.  If  a  man  is  by  heredity  a  drunkard  I 
may  feel  sorry  for  him,  but  it  is  not  my  duty 
to  express  my  disapproval  of  his  ancestors  so 
long  as  he  treats  me  decently." 

"That's  logical  enough,"  commented  Rich 
ard  enthusiastically.  "  I  really  begin  to  think, 
John,  that  you  still  have  sense  enough  left  not 
to  let  your  economic  theories  and  beliefs  — 
convictions  that,  I  have  heard,  sometimes 
make  fanatics  of  those  who  hold  them  —  ruin 
any  chance  that  might  come  to  you  for  great 
happiness  in  life." 

There  was  silence  in  the  room  for  several 
minutes. 


ioo  The  Manhattaners. 

"  It's  curious,"  remarked  Fenton  musingly, 
"that  you  have  taken  just  this  tack,  Richard. 
You  have  that  faculty  of  intuition  that  is,  for 
the  most  part,  a  feminine  characteristic.  I  can 
see  evidences  of  that  peculiarity  of  mind  in 
your  work  on  the  editorial  page.  You  seem 
to  reach  at  a  bound  deductions  that  most  men 
would  have  to  work  out  with  painful  effort." 

"  You  mean  by  that,  John,  that,  to  use  the 
words  of  our  professional  President,  it  is  a  con 
dition,  not  a  theory,  that  confronts  you,  and 
that  I  know  it." 

"  I  admit  nothing,  Richard,"  said  Fenton 
stubbornly,  and  looking  at  his  watch. 

"  But,"  persisted  Richard,  as  his  friend  rose 
to  go,  "  you  believe  that  a  man  who  holds  real 
estate  in  New  York — derived,  let  us  say,  from 
his  Dutch  ancestors  —  is  the  dishonest  holder 
of  ill-gotten  gain?" 

"This  is  unkind,  Richard,"  said  Fenton, 
with  more  emotion  in  his  voice  than  his  friend 
had  ever  heard  it  express.  "  I  have  neither 
the  inclination  nor  the  time  at  present  to 
explain  my  present  position." 


The  Manhattaners.  101 

"  Why  not  the  time,  John  ? "  asked  Richard, 
smiling  mischievously. 

"Because,  my  boy,"  and  Fenton  spoke  like 
a  man  driven  to  the  wall,  "I'm  going  up-town 
to  call  on  Miss  Van  Vleck." 

Richard  laughed  outright.    > 
.     "No    wonder,"  he    cried,     "that    you    can't 
explain  your  present  position." 

Richard  found  himself  alone  in  the  room, 
and,  lighting  a  fresh  cigar,  reseated  himself 
before  the  fire. 

"  It  was  heroic  treatment,"  he  mused,  "  but 
it's  the  only  course  to  pursue  with  such  a  man 
as  John  Fenton." 

Then  he  fell  to  thinking  of  Mrs.  Percy-Bart- 
lett,  and  the  hours  flew  by. 


IO2  The  Manhattan  ers. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

BUCHANAN  BUDD  had  been  doing  a  good 
deal  of  deep  thinking  of  late  —  proof  positive 
that  the  times  were  out  of  joint.  Budd,  of 
course,  was  obliged  to  do  more  or  less  think 
ing  in  order  to  be  always  correctly  dressed,  but 
it  was  only  a  great  crisis  that  could  compel 
him  to  ponder  really  weighty  problems  for  any 
length  of  time. 

When  a  subterranean  disturbance  shakes  a 
city  it  is  the  most  clumsily  constructed  houses 
that  go  down  first.  In  like  manner,  when  the 
most  select  circle  of  society  is  in  trouble,  it  is 
the  man  who  has  no  very  good  claim  to  recog 
nition  in  that  circle  who  first  feels  the  effects 
of  the  internal  agitation. 

As  Buchanan  Budd  listened  to  the  current 
gossip  at  his  clubs,  and  read  in  the  newspapers 
impudent  criticisms  on  the  doings  of  the  people 
with  whom  he  associated,  he  came  reluctantly, 


The  Manhattaners.  103 

but  firmly,  to  the  conclusion  that  it  behooved 
him  to  take  some  step  that  would  strengthen 
his  position  as  a  recognized  member  of  the 
most  exclusive  social  clique  in  the  country  — 
perhaps  in  the  world. 

It  did  not  take  him  long  to  decide  that  the 
only  fitting  strategical  move  on  his  part  lay 
along  the  line   of   matrimony.     Not   that   he 
came  to  this  conviction  willingly.     He  enjoyed 
life  as  a  bachelor,  and  he  felt  that  in  taking  to 
himself   a  wife    he  would  be  making  a  most 
dangerous   experiment.      He   could   not   blind 
himself  to  the  fact  that  the  unpleasant  pub 
licity  at  that  time  being  thrust  upon  certain 
members  of  the  inner  circle  had  had  its  origin 
in  unfortunate   marriages.      Nevertheless,    he 
realized  that  society  expected  of  him,  at  some 
time  or  other,  a  personal  sacrifice  of  his  liberty 
on  the  altar  of   matrimony ;  and  the  present 
crisis  seemed  to  be  an  appropriate  moment  for 
propitiating  the  powers  controlling  the  inner 
circle  by  taking  to  himself   a  wife  who  would 
render  him  safe  for  the  future  in  any  sifting 
process  in  which  society  might  indulge. 


IO4  The  Manhattaners. 

After  going  over  the  list  of  eligible  young 
women  in  his  set,  he  had  decided,  without 
much  hesitation,  that  Gertrude  Van  Vleck  was, 
as  he  put  it  to  himself,  the  card  for  him  to 
play.  She  possessed  several  characteristics 
that  rendered  her  especially  eligible.  In  the 
first  place,  her  position  in  society  was  thor 
oughly  assured.  Furthermore,  she  possessed 
sufficient  mental  alertness  to  render  her  com 
panionable  to  a  man  who  had  not  been  quite 
able  to  crush  all  fondness  for  originality  out 
of  his  make-up.  Then  again  —  and  this  was 
an  important  consideration — he  had  never 
made  love  to  her.  They  had  been  good 
friends,  to  use  a  rather  meaningless  phrase, 
and  Budd  was  encouraged  by  the  thought 
that  he  had  never  prejudiced  his  chances  with 
her  by  invoking  sentiment  to  add  spice  to 
their  intercourse. 

That  she  had  rejected  several  suitors  was  a 
fact  well  known  to  society,  and  there  had  been 
a  good  deal  of  discussion  as  to  Gertrude  Van 
Vleck's  motive  for  refusing  at  least  two  offers 
that  were  generally  considered  especially  de- 


The  Manhattaners.  105 

sirable.  In  weighing  this  phase  of  the  case, 
Buchanan  Budd,  who  was  not  an  abnormally 
modest  man,  asked  himself  if  the  explanation 
of  her  reluctance  to  enter  into  wedlock  had 
not  been  due  to  the  fact  that  he,  in  certain 
respects  one  of  the  most  eligible  bachelors  in 
the  city,  had  hitherto  approached  her  only  as 
a  friend,  It  is  true  that  she  had  sometimes 
appeared  to  indulge  in  a  little  sarcasm  at  his 
expense,  but  her  tongue  might  have  been 
inspired  by  pique.  What  more  likely  than 
that  his  failure  to  put  any  special  warmth  into 
his  manner,  when  she  had  hoped  for  something 
more  than  friendship,  had  been  the  underlying 
cause  of  those  shafts  of  satire  that  she  had 
sometimes  launched  at  him  ?  The  more  Bu 
chanan  Budd  questioned  himself  on  this  point, 
the  more  he  became  convinced  that  Gertrude 
Van  Vleck  concealed  a  fondness  for  him  that 
she  only  awaited  a  change  in  his  manner  to 
reveal. 

There  was  one  peculiarity  possessed  by  Budd 
that  might  have  enabled  him  to  earn  his  own 
living,  if  fate  had  not  ordained  that  he  should 


io6  The  Manhattaners. 

lie  on  a  bed  of  roses.  When  he  had  decided 
upon  a  course  of  action,  he  never  hesitated 
to  begin  operations  at  once.  But,  as  he  sel 
dom  reached  any  conclusion  that  demanded 
the  exercise  of  energy  and  directness,  there 
was  something  novel  and  inspiring  in  the  emo 
tions  that  animated  him  as  he  sent  in  his 
card  to  Gertrude  Van  Vleck  on  the  very  even 
ing  on  which  he  had  pursued,  while  smoking 
a  cigar  at  his  favorite  club,  the  mental  pro 
cesses  outlined  above.  He  felt  that  there  was 
something  Napoleonic  in  thus  moving  on  the 
enemy's  stronghold  at  once,  and  he  entered 
her  drawing-room  with  almost  the  air  of  a 
conqueror.  One  fact  that  rendered  bachelor 
hood  so  satisfactory  to  Buchanan  Budd  was 
that  he  possessed  quite  a  vivid  imagination. 
No  man  will  grow  too  lonely  if  he  can  con 
stantly  delude  himself  with  flattering  fancies, 
and  picture  himself  as  the  centre  of  the 
universe,  with  the  ends  of  space  to  do  his 
bidding. 

"And  what    am    I    to    have   from   you    this 
evening,  Mr.  Budd  ? "  asked  Gertrude,  seating 


The  Manhattaners.  107 

herself  for  a  chat  that  she  knew  would  prove 
amusing.  "  Censure  for  the  new  woman  ? " 

"  No,  Miss  Van  Vleck ;  I  crave  advice  for  the 
old-fashioned  man." 

Gertrude  smiled,  and  her  eyes  flashed  mer 
rily  as  she  exclaimed, — 

"  There  is  a  mystery  here !  Mr.  Buchanan 
Budd  seeking  advice  from  a  woman  whom  he 
suspects  of  holding  advanced  ideas !  That 
seems  hardly  reasonable." 

There  was  something  in  Gertrude  Van  Vleck's 
manner  and  appearance  that  struck  Budd  as 
unusual.  He  had  always  considered  her  a 
handsome  woman,  but  to-night  her  eyes  were 
more  brilliant,  her  complexion  more  dazzling, 
than  he  had  ever  seen  them,  while  there  was 
something  in  the  tone  of  her  voice  and  the 
movements  of  her  hands  that  seemed  to  indi 
cate  suppressed  excitement.  These  phenom 
ena,  he  argued,  augured  well  for  the  advance 
movement  that  he,  with  Napoleonic  cleverness, 
had  determined  to  order  along  the  entire  line 
of  his  attack.  But  the  moment  for  his  forward 
movement  had  not  quite  come.  A  little  skir- 


io8  The  Manhattaners. 

mishing  in  the  open  field  was  essential  before 
he  ordered  up  his  heavy  troops. 

"But  why  is  it  not  reasonable,  Miss  Van 
Vleck?  Surely,  even  a  conservative,  and,  if 
you  please,  reactionary,  man  may  feel  anxious 
to  put  himself  in  touch  with  the  new  ideas. 
It  may  even  be  that  he  honestly  desires  to 
embrace  as  many  of  the  iconoclastic  theories 
of  the  day  as  possible,  if  for  no  other  pur 
pose  than  to  retain  the  friendships  he  made 
in  the  peaceful  days  before — before"  — 

"Before  the  women  of  our  set  began  to 
think,  you  mean,"  said  Gertrude,  as  he  hesi 
tated  a  moment.  "  It  is  certainly  compliment 
ary  on  your  part  —  and  so  self-sacrificing." 
There  was  a  touch  of  sarcasm  in  her  voice. 

Budd  looked  at  her  appealingly.  "You 
hardly  do  justice  to  my  motives,  Miss  Van 
Vleck.  I  am  honestly  anxious  to  overcome 
my  ancient  prejudices  and  to  put  myself  in  sym 
pathy  with  the  age  in  which  I  live.  You  can 
do  so  much  to  help  me  in  this  —  if  you  will." 

There  was  a  note  of  tenderness  in  his  voice 
that  Gertrude  had  never  heard  in  it  before,  and 


The  Manhattaners.  109 

she  glanced  at  him  suspiciously.  She  had 
derived  considerable  pleasure,  in  a  mild  way, 
from  her  friendly  intercourse  with  Buchanan 
Budd ;  and  her  liking  for  him  had  been  based, 
to  a  great  extent,  on  the  utter  absence  of  flirta- 
tiousness  in  his  manner.  That  he  had  any 
intention  of  jeopardizing  their  friendship  by 
injecting  sentiment  into  the  relationship  was  a 
new  thought  to  her.  At  that  moment  it  was 
the  most  unwelcome  suspicion  that  could  have 
entered  her  mind.  There  is  no  time  when  a 
woman  so  dreads  the  advances  of  a  man  to 
whom  she  is  indifferent  as  the  moment  when 
she  admits  to  herself  that  her  heart  is  influ 
enced  by  another.  Buchanan  Budd  had  un 
consciously  forced  Gertrude  Van  Vleck  into  a 
self-confession  that  made  her  pulse  flutter  and 
her  cheek  turn  pale. 

"  I  fear,  Mr.  Budd,"  she  went  on  with  ner 
vous  vivacity,  "  that  you  would  not  be  willing 
to  follow  us  very  far — no  matter  how  great  an 
effort  I  made  to  put  you  in  sympathy  with  the 
new  movement.  Let  me  tell  you,  Mr.  Budd, 
there  is  no  predicting  where  it  will  all  end.  A 


no  The  Manhattaners. 

woman  in  Vienna  has  applied  to  the  authorities 
to  be  appointed  chief -executioner.  A  Miss 
Edith  Walker  is  an  applicant  in  Bogota,  Colum 
bia,  for  the  office  of  chief  of  police.  I  see  by 
your  face  that  you  are  shocked  at  all  this.  I 
am  so  glad." 

"Glad  that  I  am  shocked  ?  "  exclaimed  Budd 
confusedly. 

"No,  not  that;  but  that  I  have  had  the 
courage  to  warn  you." 

"  To  warn  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Gertrude,  the  former  pale 
ness  of  her  cheeks  giving  place  to  a  slight 
flush,  "  to  warn  you.  Don't  you  see  that  there 
is  great  danger  in  attempting  to  keep  up  with 
the  restless  activity  of  the  fin-de-sihle  woman  ? 
I  think  you  will  be  much  happier,  Mr.  Budd, 
in  sticking  to  your  former  convictions,  and  not 
attempting  to  take  an  interest  in  movements 
and  tendencies  with  which,  you  know,  you  are 
not  in  sympathy  at  heart." 

"But,"  persisted  Budd,  who  felt  that  some 
how  his  plan  of  campaign  was  not  working 
itself  out  with  the  success  that  should  attend  a 


The  Manhattaners.  in 

truly  Napoleonic  manoeuvre,  "  I  came  here  to 
ask  you  to  help  me,  not  by  throwing  cold  water 
on  my  aspirations,  but  by  telling  me  how  to 
become  worthy  of  —  of  the  new  woman." 

Gertrude  Van  Vleck  laughed  nervously. 

"  I  appreciate  the  compliment  you  have  paid 
me,  Mr.  Budd,  but  I  am  unworthy  of  the  trust 
you  seem  to  place  in  me.  Frankly,  I  find  it  so 
difficult  to  adjust  my  former,  I  might  say  my 
hereditary,  convictions  to  the  teachings  of  the 
day,  that  I  feel  that  I  must  remain  a  follower 
instead  of  a  leader,  even  at  the  expense  of 
not  winning  for  the  cause  so  valuable  a  cham 
pion  as  Mr.  Buchanan  Budd." 

For  the  first  time  since  he  had  opened  fire, 
Buchanan  Budd  realized  that  his  skirmish-line 
had  been  driven  back.  But  a  battle  is  never 
lost  until  the  last  charge  is  made. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said  in  a  musing  tone, 
"  that  you  have  not  given  me  more  encourage 
ment  in  my  effort  to  —  to  revise  my  ideas  re 
garding  —  regarding  woman's  sphere,  I  think 
you  call  it.  I  assure  you,  Miss  Van  Vleck," 
and  he  bent  toward  her,  "that  my  motive  in 


H2  The  Manhattaners. 

asking  you  to  help  me  in  this  matter  was  not 
of  small  importance  to  myself.  I  am  very 
anxious  to  —  to"  — 

He  paused  for  words  with  a  hesitation  that 
was  not  at  all  Napoleonic.  At  that  moment  a 
servant  entered  with  a  card  for  Miss  Van 
Vleck. 

"  Mr.  John  Fenton  !  "  exclaimed  Gertrude, 
with  something  in  her  voice  that  did  not  please 
Buchanan  Budd. 

Then  she  turned  calmly  toward  him  and 
asked,  "  Do  you  know  Mr.  Fenton,  Mr. 
Budd?" 

A  hitherto  unpublished  anecdote  tells  how 
a  daring  onlooker  approached  Napoleon  on  the 
morning  of  Waterloo  and  said,  — 

"  Pardon  me,  Sire,  but  have  you  ever  met 
Wellington  before  ?  " 


The  Manhattaners.  113 


CHAPTER   XII. 

"  I  THINK,  Mr.  Budd,  that  Mr.  Fenton  can 
give  you  the  advice  and  counsel  that  I  have 
so  wofully  failed  to  furnish  you,"  remarked 
Gertrude,  after  her  callers  were  seated.  "  You 
see,  Mr.  Fenton  takes  the  new  woman  seri 
ously." 

"  Surely,  Mr.  Budd,"  said  John  Fenton, 
"  there  is  no  great  merit  in  that.  We  are 
obliged  to,  are  we  not?" 

"I  am  disappointed  in  you,  Mr.  Fenton," 
exclaimed  Gertrude.  "  I  thought  you  did  it 
willingly,  and  now  you  hint  at  compulsion." 

Buchanan  Budd  grasped  the  opportunity  for 
a  flank  movement. 

"  You  have  thrown  yourself  open  to  sus 
picion,  Mr.  Fenton.  I  fear  your  counsel  and 
advice  to  one  who  is  very  glad  to  welcome 
woman  to  new  privileges  would  not  be  as  val 
uable  as  I  had  hoped  it  would  be." 


H4  The  Manhattaners. 

Fenton  saw  that  he  had  placed  himself  at  a 
disadvantage. 

"You  both  do  me  an  injustice,"  he  explained. 
"Although  there  may  be,  as  I  have  said,  no 
possibility  of  retreat,  we  men  still  take  pleasure 
in  advancing  with  women,  rather  than  against 
them." 

Budd  saw  at  once  that  his  opponent  was  a 
strategist  worthy  of  his  own  Napoleonic  skill. 

"You  see,"  said  Budd,  gazing  earnestly  at 
Gertrude,  "that  you  find  all  men  ready  to  ca 
pitulate.  The  burden  now  lies  on  your  own 
shoulders.  It  is  for  you  to  direct  your  allies 
in  the  line  that  they  should  take." 

Gertrude  smiled  in  apparent  amusement ;  but 
she  had  a  painful  consciousness  that  her  hand 
would  tremble  perceptibly  if  she  held  it  out 
straight  before  her. 

•'  It  seems,"  she  remarked,  looking  at  Fen- 
ton,  "  that  everything  has  been  turned  around. 
As  a  guide  and  adviser  to  men,  I  fear  that 
woman  is  not  yet  quite  up  in  her  part." 

"  As  my  friend  Richard  Stoughton,  —  you 
met  him  at  the  musicale  last  evening,  Miss 


The  Manhattaners.  115 

Van  Vleck,  — as  Stoughton  puts  it,  woman  has 
evoluted  into  a  mentor  from  a  tormentor,"  re 
marked  Fenton,  proving  that  he  was  no  longer 
a  young  man,  by  quoting  the  witticism  of  a 
friend  and  giving  credit  to  the  author. 

"  I  have  been  told  that  Mr.  Stoughton  is 
clever,"  remarked  Gertrude.  "  He  is  on  a 
newspaper,  is  he  not  ? " 

A  slight  flush  mounted  to  Fenton's  cheek. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  looking  at  Budd 
steadily ;  "  he  is  one  of  my  colleagues  on  the 
Trumpet." 

"  Ah,"  commented  Budd,  with  what  he 
doubtless  considered  an  effectively  Napoleonic 
drawl,  "  you  are  —  ah  —  in  journalism,  Mr. 
Fenton  ? " 

There  was  nothing  offensive  in  the  words 
themselves,  but  the  speaker's  tone  implied  that 
he  considered  journalism  a  line  of  endeavor 
that  was  not  recognized  in  his  set.  Gertrude 
Van  Vleck  understood  the  veiled  sneer  in  his 
voice,  and  her  eyes  shone  mischievously  as  she 
cast  a  rapid  glance  at  Fenton,  and  then  said 
to  Budd,— 


n6  The  Manhattaners. 

"  It  seems  to  me,  and  I  know  so  many 
women  who  agree  with  me,  that  journalism  is, 
above  all  others,  the  appropriate  profession 
for  a  man  of  intellect  in  these  days." 

So  far  as  good  form  permitted  it  to  express 
any  emotion,  Buchanan  Budd's  face  wore  a  look 
of  surprise  as  she  uttered  these  words.  Fenton 
smiled  slightly,  and  said,  — 

"  Won't  you  explain  your  position,  Miss  Van 
Vleck  ?  Your  remark  is  so  distinctly  compli 
mentary  to  my  line  of  life  that  I  should  be  de 
lighted  to  have  you  enlighten  us  further  regard 
ing  your  reason  for  the  conclusion  you  have 
reached." 

"Perhaps  that  would  be  killing  two  birds 
with  one  stone,"  suggested  Gertrude  enthusias 
tically.  "  Mr.  Budd  has  been  asking  my  advice 
about  the  best  method  of  getting  into  touch 
with  the  new  ideas  that  are  influencing  the 
world  —  especially  as  they  apply  to  woman. 
It  seems  to  me  that  the  life  of  a  newspaper 
man  must,  of  necessity,  place  him  in  sympa 
thy  with  the  most  advanced  tendencies  of 
thought.  I  mean,  of  course,  a  newspaper  man 


The  Manhattaners.  1 1 7 

who  holds  a  position  of  any  prominence  in 
journalism." 

"If  I  follow  you  —  ah  —  Miss  Van  Vleck," 
put  in  Budd,  his  drawl  growing  somewhat  more 
pronounced  as  he  realized  that  the  enemy  had 
cleverly  thrown  him  upon  the  defensive,  "  if 
I  follow  you,  the  proposition  seems  to  be  that 
in  order  to  become  thoroughly  imbued  with  the 
theories  that  dominate  woman  at  present,  I 
should  —  ah  —  go  into  journalism." 

Gertrude  laughed  nervously. 

"  What  do  you  advise,  Mr.  Fenton  ?  Mr. 
Budd  is  honestly  anxious  to  be  progressive  ; 
he  even  flattered  me  by  saying  that  I  could  help 
him  to  overcome  certain  ancient  prejudices  that 
still  cling  to  him.  But  I  feel  convinced  that 
you  can  be  of  more  service  to  him  in  this  mat 
ter  than  I  —  or  any  woman  —  could  ever  be." 

"  I  fear,"  said  Fenton  coldly,  "  that  the  treat 
ment  for  Mr.  Budd,  at  which  you  have  hinted, 
is  much  too  heroic.  The  life  of  the  New  York 
newspaper  man  is  not  devoted  to  the  study  of 
theories,  but  to  the  discovery  and  publication  of 
facts.  Our  effort  is  to  free  from  imprisonment 


ii8  The  Manhattaners. 

poor  old  'Truth,  crushed  to  earth,'  to  use  the 
words  of  the  poet." 

"  I  suppose  —  ah  —  Mr.  Fenton,"  suggested 
Budd,  "  that  the  reason  the  newspapers  stir  up 
so  much  mud,  then,  is  that  they  find  —  ah*  - 
Truth  in  such  an  unfortunate  position." 

Gertrude  and  Fenton  laughed  outright. 

"Very  well  put,  Mr.  Budd,"  exclaimed  the 
latter.  "  I  feel  convinced  that  you  need  no 
outside  aid  to  enable  you  to  keep  up  with  cur 
rent  tendencies  ;  provided,  of  course,"  —  and 
Fenton  looked  earnestly  at  Budd,  —  "  provided, 
of  course,  that  you  honestly  prefer  to  be  pro 
gressive  rather  than  reactionary." 

Budd  had  arisen  to  make  his  adieux. 

"I  —  ah  —  feel  very  much  encouraged,  Mr. 
Fenton,  by  your  words.  Especially  as  they 
don't  condemn  me  —  ah  —  to  a  newspaper  life," 
he  said,  smiling  sarcastically.  Then  he  turned 
and  took  Gertrude's  hand. 

"  I  hope,  Miss  Van  Vleck,"  he  said  earnestly, 
"  that  you  feel  encouraged  about  my  redemp 
tion." 

Gertrude  looked  at  him  with  mock  solemnity. 


The  Manhattaners.  119 

"  I  fear,  Mr.  Budd,  that  the  age  of  miracles  has 
long  gone  by." 

Budd  strolled  thoughtfully  along  the  avenue 
toward  his  favorite  club.  "  She  is  mistaken 
about  the  age  of  miracles,"  he  was  saying  to 
himself.  "  There  are  amazing  and  inexplicable 
phenomena  in  sight  all  around  us.  A  news 
paper  man  who  appears  to  advantage  in  a  draw 
ing-room  !  Is  not  that  a  miracle  ?  And  I  even 
suspect  that  she  admires  him.  It's  most  in 
credible." 

There  was  a  great  deal  in  the  world  that 
astonished  Napoleon  when  he  reached  St.  He 
lena  and  had  time  to  sit  down  and  think. 

"Do  you  know  anything  of  a  man  named 
John  Fenton  —  a  journalist,  I  believe?"  asked 
Buchanan  Budd  of  Percy-Bartlett  when  he 
reached  the  club. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  latter.  "  Fenton  be 
longed  to  our  set  years  ago  —  before  you 
entered  it,  you  know.  He's  a  thoroughbred, 
but  eccentric,  and  completely  out  of  the  run 
ning." 


I2O  The  Manhattaners. 

This  answer  did  not  tend  to  restore  Budd's 
disturbed  equilibrium.  He  suspected  that 
Percy-Bartlett  underrated  John  Fenton's  stay 
ing  powers. 


The  Manhattaners.  121 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

IT  was  a  bright  moonlight  night  as  John 
Fenton  strode  hurriedly  away  from  the  Van 
Vleck  mansion,  and  bent  his  steps  toward 
Richard  Stoughton's  apartments.  Just  why, 
at  such  an  hour,  he  had  determined  to  call  on 
his  youthful  friend,  he  could  hardly  say.  He 
was  discontented  with  himself  and  the  world. 
He  had  had,  in  a  certain  sense,  an  enjoyable 
evening ;  but  a  man  of  Fenton's  age  and  mental 
tendencies  does  not  make  a  radical  change  in 
his  habits  without  a  protest  that  finds  expres 
sion  in  his  actions.  A  broken  piston-rod  may 
not  ruin  an  Atlantic  liner,  but  it  causes  many 
eccentric  variations  in  the  vessel's  course. 

For  ten  years  past  John  Fenton  had  been  a 
man  of  somewhat  questionable  habits,  and  of 
distinctly  iconoclastic  convictions.  He  had  dis 
covered,  of  a  sudden,  that  a  change  had  crept 
over  the  details  of  his  daily  life,  and  that  his 


122  The  Manhattaners. 

iconoclasm  was  no  longer  followed  by  an  ex 
clamation  point,  but  by  an  interrogation  mark. 
What  influence  had  been  brought  to  bear  to 
beget  these  changes,  he  was  not  sure.  He 
realized  that  his  intercourse  with  Richard 
Stoughton  had  had  some  effect  upon  his  mode 
of  life  and  cast  of  thought,  but  he  had  never 
acknowledged  to  himself  that  he  had  taken  the 
young  man  an  strieux.  That  a  rather  superfi 
cial  boy,  not  long  out  of  college,  could  throw  a 
man  of  Fenton's  age  and  character  entirely  out 
of  time-worn  grooves  seemed  to  be  an  absurd 
ity.  But  as  Fenton  strode  down  the  avenue,  so 
deep  in  self-communion  that  he  noted  not  the 
beauty  of  the  night,  he  realized  that  influences 
he  could  not  trace,  and  whose  force  he  could 
not  measure,  had  been  at  work  to  disturb  the 
even  tenor  of  his  life,  and  to  throw  him  back 
into  that  state  of  unrest  and  questioning  that 
had  agitated  his  existence  before  he  had  aban 
doned,  as  he  fondly  thought  forever,  the  ambi 
tions  that  the  average  man  cherishes. 

Modern  life  has  one  characteristic  that  must 
be  taken  into  consideration  as  we  follow  the 


The  Manhattaners.  123 

outward  manifestations  in  our  fellow-men  of  the 
inward  impetus  that  dominates  them ;  namely, 
its  complexity.  An  individual,  in  this  age  of 
the  world,  is  powerless  in  any  effort  to  shape 
his  life  in  opposition  to  the  currents  that  influ 
ence  the  world  at  large.  Isolation  is  practically 
impossible.  Our  butler  remarks  that  coffee  and 
tea  have  become  expensive  luxuries.  We  real 
ize  that  a  revolution  in  Brazil,  or  a  war  in  the 
far  East,  has  had  its  effect  in  swelling  the 
expenses  of  our  cuisine. 

Society  is  closely  knit  together.  Jenkins, 
the  millionnaire,  gets  drunk  at  dinner.  The 
butler  tells  the  cook,  the  cook  tells  his  sweet 
heart,  his  sweetheart  tells  her  brother,  her 
brother  tells  a  bartender,  the  bartender  tells  a 
loafer,  the  loafer  tells  a  tramp.  Does  not  all 
this  illustrate  the  perfect  brotherhood  of  man  ? 

John  Fenton  had  made  a  close  study  of  mod 
ern  social  problems ;  and  he  was  thoroughly 
conversant  with  the  fact  that  the  interdepen 
dence  of  individuals  has  been  vastly  increased 
by  the  characteristic  features  of  contemporary 
life.  Nevertheless,  there  was  a  certain  stub- 


124  The  Manhattaners. 

bornness  in  his  make-up  that  made  him  revolt 
against  the  very  tendencies  that  had  seemed  to 
him,  in  his  more  optimistic  moods,  to  insure 
the  final  salvation  of  society.  He  was  a  man 
who  objected  to  the  idea  that  he  had  yielded 
to  an  influence  that  he  could  not  follow  to  its 
source,  and  had  drifted  away  from  his  former 
moorings.  Accepting  the  complexity  of  society 
as  a  stimulating,  and  perhaps  encouraging, 
fact,  he  objected  to  its  personal  application. 
He  had  tried  hard  to  be  a  rebel  in  manner  as 
well  as  in  theory.  That  he  had  sent  up  a  flag 
of  truce  was  a  conviction  that  filled  him  with 
both  self-distrust  and  discontent 

As  he  turned  into  the  side  street  leading  to 
Stoughton's  lodgings,  he  stopped  before  a 
brilliantly  lighted  saloon.  For  fully  a  month 
Fenton  had  abstained  almost  entirely  from 
alcoholic  stimulants ;  but  at  this  moment  he 
craved  the  revivifying  influence  of  a  cocktail. 
He  turned  back  into  the  avenue,  and  retraced 
his  steps  for  half  a  block.  He  was  astonished 
at  his  hesitation,  — •  his  seemingly  childish  lack 
of  determination.  He  tried  to  analyze  his 


The  Manhattaners.  125 

mood.  He  realized  that  he  had  no  objections 
to  offer  to  one  harmless  little  cocktail  at  ten 
o'clock  at  night.  What,  then,  was  it  that 
caused  him  to  repass  the  saloon  without  enter 
ing  it  ?  "  Perhaps,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  per 
haps  I  am  growing  snobbish  again  since  I 
returned  to  the  inner  circle.  If  I  want  a  cock 
tail  hereafter  I  shall  be  obliged  to  rejoin  one  or 
more  of  my  old  clubs." 

Fenton  found  Richard  Stoughton  still  seated 
before  the  dying  embers  of  the  fire,  and 
thoughtfully  puffing  cigar-smoke  into  the  heavy 
atmosphere. 

"Come,  come,  Richard,"  cried  Fenton,  throw 
ing  up  one  of  the  windows.  "You  might  as 
well  go  the  pace  in  gay  company  as  to  ruin 
your  constitution  in  solitude  in  a  room  ac 
tually  choking  with  nicotine.  I  was  not 
sure  that  I  should  find  you;  but  I  took  the 
chance." 

Richard  gazed  at  his  friend  searchingly  as 
he  handed  him  a  cigar. 

"Well,  John,  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  of  course, 
although  I  had  not  looked  forward  to  your 


126  The  Manhattaners. 

reappearance  to-night.  And  now  tell  me,  old 
man,  are  you  with  us  or  against  us  ? " 

"  I  don't  quite  understand  your  question, 
Richard,"  exclaimed  Fenton,  regretting  for  a 
moment  that  he  had  not  taken  a  cocktail  to 
restore  his  nervous  energy. 

"Well,  John,  forgive  me  then,  if  I  take  a 
liberty  and  put  my  question  in  different  words. 
Did  you  enjoy  your  call  on  Miss  Van  Vleck  ? " 

"Those  are,  indeed,  very  different  words, 
Richard.  The  two  questions  seem  to  have 
no  very  close  relationship." 

"  Perhaps  not,  John.  That's  for  me  to  judge. 
But  answer  one  or  the  other  of  them;  which 
ever  one  you  choose." 

"Well,  my  boy,  I  can  say  honestly,"  re 
marked  Fenton  guardedly,  "that  I  have  had 
a  very  pleasant  evening." 

"  But  it  was  not  wholly  satisfactory,  or  you 
wouldn't  be  here,"  commented  Richard  in  a 
tone  of  conviction.  "  Come,  old  man,  free 
your  mind.  You  need  a  father-confessor.  I'll 
try  to  fill  the  role  if  you  will  bear  with  my 
youth  and  inexperience." 


The  Manhattaners.  127 

Fenton  puffed  at  his  cigar  in  silence  for  a 
time,  and  gazed  moodily  into  the  gleaming 
coals  in  the  grate. 

"  I  acknowledge,  Richard,"  he  said  at  length, 
"that  I  am  in  a  disturbed  state  of  mind.  But 
if  I  can't  help  myself,  nobody  else  can  give  me 
the  aid  I  need." 

"Proud  and  stubborn  heart,"  cried  Richard. 
"  Let  me  diagnose  your  case.  You  believe  in 
certain  novel  theories,  and  have  become  a  con 
vert  to  various  economic  teachings  that  em 
brace  more  in  their  ultimate  effects  than  a 
mere  question  of  taxation.  You  are  suddenly 
confronted  by  the  fact  that  it  is  possible  for 
even  political  economy  to  demand  martyrs  on 
the  altars  it  has  raised.  Naturally,  you  object 
to  being  a  martyr." 

"Your  way  of  putting  it,  Richard,"  said 
Fenton  slowly,  "may  have  a  basis  of  truth. 
I  admit  that  I  seem  to  have  come  to  a  turning- 
point  imperatively  demanding  a  decision  on  my 
part  that  will  have  a  radical  effect  on  my  life." 

"It  is,"  suggested  Richard,  "a  question  of 
hearts  versus  theories." 


128  The  Manhattaners. 

"Not  yet,  perhaps,"  answered  Fenton  ;  "but 
it  may  become  so  if  I  don't  call  a  halt  at  once 
in  my  present  methods." 

"  No  man  can  serve  two  masters  to-day,  John, 
any  more  than  our  remote  ancestors  could  when 
the  proposition  was  first  put  into  words.  Of 
course  you  know,  without  any  explanation  on 
my  part,  how  my  sympathy  lies  in  the  struggle 
that  is  worrying  you.  In  the  first  place,  al 
though  I  may  be  forced  to  admit  the  strength 
of  the  premises  upon  which  the  writer  you  call 
master  bases  his  conclusions,  I  refuse  to  accept 
the  conclusions.  Chasing  a  rainbow  seems  to 
me  to  be  a  useless  occupation,  no  matter  how 
much  we  admire  the  rainbow.  Furthermore, 
the  personal  element  enters  largely  into  my 
way  of  looking  at  this  matter.  I  have  grown 
very  fond  of  you,  John,"  and  Richard's  voice 
grew  almost  caressing  in  its  tone,  "and  I 
should  like  to  see  you  take  the  path  to  happi 
ness  that  chance  has  thrown  open  to  you." 

"We  are  talking  in  the  air,  my  boy,"  said 
Fenton  earnestly,  with  a  note  of  sadness  in 
his  intonation.  "  It  is  only  excessive  egotism 


The  Manhattaners.  129 

on  my  part  that  could  lead  me  to  believe  that 
the  path  to  happiness  of  which  you  speak  has 
really  opened  up  before  me." 

"But  if,"  persisted  Richard,  "you  felt  sure 
that  by  sacrificing  what  I  take  the  liberty  of 
calling  your  chimerical  efforts  to  put  salt  on 
the  tail  of  the  millennium,  you  could  win  the 
joy  that  has  suddenly  met  your  gaze,  would 
you  not  abandon  your  philanthropic  but  hope 
less  dreams  for  the  alluring  reality  within  your 


grasp 


"  Frankly,  Richard,"  answered  Fenton,  after 
a  moment's  silence,  "  I  cannot  answer  the  ques 
tion  to-night.  It  takes  a  man  in  middle  life  a 
long  time  to  overturn  the  results  of  ten  years 
of  reading  and  thinking  and  endeavor.  But  I 
am  glad  that  you  have  put  the  problem  in  con 
crete  form.  I  can  look  at  it  more  calmly  now 
that  I  have  heard  you  put  it  into  words.  But 
it  is  late  and  I  must  go.  I  have  been  very 
selfish,  Richard,  I  fear.  Tell  me,  my  boy,  why 
have  you  wasted  an  entire  evening  looking  at 
a  bed  of  coals,  and  blowing  smoke  into  the 
air?" 


130  The  Manhattaners. 

Richard  smiled  as  he  took  Fenton's  out 
stretched  hand. 

"  I  have  been  trying  to  come  to  a  decision, 
John." 

"  And  have  you  reached  it  ?  " 

"  I  fear  not,  old  man.  Decisions  are  hard  to 
arrive  at,  John,  are  they  not  ?  " 

"They  are,  indeed,"  assented  Fenton  sadly, 
as  he  said  good-night. 


The  Manhattaners.  131 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  I  SENT  for  you  to  cheer  me  up,  Gertrude, 
but,  really,  you're  the  most  depressing  crea 
ture  I've  seen  in  a  long  time.  You're  not 
like  yourself  at  all.  What  is  the  matter  ? " 

Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  and  Gertrude  Van  Vleck 
were  spending  an  afternoon  together,  indul 
ging  in  what  the  former  called  "  boudoir  re 
pentance."  Lent  had  come,  and  the  reaction 
from  social  gayety  had  caused  society  to  sit 
down  for  a  time  and  try  to  think.  Sackcloth 
and  ashes  were  very  becoming  to  Mrs.  Percy- 
Bartlett  ;  for  she  had  never  looked  more  at 
tractive  to  the  eyes  of  Gertrude  Van  Vleck 
than  she  did  at  that  moment,  as  she  drew 
her  chair  close  to  her  friend's  side,  and,  taking 
her  hand,  smiled  up  into  her  troubled  face 
questioningly. 

"  You  have  something  on  your  mind,  Ger 
trude  ;  I  am  sure  of  it.  Tell  me  what  it  is." 


132  The  Manhattaners. 

Gertrude  Van  Vleck's  clear-cut  face  was 
paler  than  its  wont,  and  there  were  dark  circles 
under  her  eyes. 

"You  are  mistaken,  Harriet,"  she  answered 
evasively.  "  I  always  feel  a  certain  depression 
when  Lent  begins.  I  suppose  that  that  is 
very  becoming  on  my  part.  Lent  means  more 
to  -us,  whose  days  are  nearly  all  Easters,  than 
to  people  who  spend  their  whole  lives  in  the 
shadow  of  self-sacrifice  and  denial.  Do  you 
know,  Harriet,  I  sometimes  feel  a  great  pity 
for  the  worried  and  overworked  world  that  lies 
outside  our  set.  It  seems  so  unjust  that  a  few 
of  us  should  have  all  the  good  things  of 
the  earth,  while  the  millions  are  obliged  to  toil 
and  sicken  and  die  in  the  mere  effort  to  get 
enough  to  eat  and  wear." 

Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  looked  at  Gertrude  with 
undisguised  astonishment  in  her  eyes. 

"What  queer  ideas  you  are  getting  into 
your  head,  Gertrude  !  I  am  glad  you  are  going 
to  Europe  so  soon.  The  change  will  do  you 
good." 

"  I  hope  it  will,  Harriet,"  said  Gertrude  earn- 


The  Manhattaners.  133 

estly,  "  for  I  am  really  wofully  out  of  sorts.  I 
have  often  thought,  don't  you  know,  that  it  was 
a  glorious  thing  that  we  women  of  to-day  are 
not  contented  to  take  everything  for  granted, 
and  are  inclined  to  do  a  little  reading  and 
thinking  for  ourselves.  But  we  pay  the  penalty 
for  our  intellectual  emancipation  in  various 
ways.  Isn't  it  Byron  who  says  that  'knowl-' 
edge  is  sorrow,  and  he  who  knows  the  most 
must  mourn  the  most.' ' 

"  What  a  curious  girl  you  are,  Gertrude !  I 
didn't  know  that  anybody  ever  quoted  Byron  in 
these  days.  He's  so  old-fashioned,  is  he  not  ? 
But,  Gertrude,  I  am  really  worried  about  you. 
Surely  it  isn't  our  fault  if  the  world  is  all 
wrong.  What  can  we  do  to  set  things  right  ? 
Absolutely  nothing,  my  dear.  We  might  as 
well  feel  sorry  that  the  Japanese  have  killed  a 
lot  of  Chinamen,  as  to  worry  about  the  poverty 
and  distress  on  the  East  Side  —  or  is  it  the 
West  Side  —  of  this  great  city.  I'm  sorry,  Ger 
trude,  that  you  aren't  literary,  or  musical,  or 
something  of  that  kind.  It's  a  wonderful  thing 
to  have  an  outlet  for  just  such  moods  as  you 


134  The  Manhattaners. 

are  in.  If  it  wasn't  for  my  music,  I  don't  know 
what  I'd  do  at  times.  Something  reckless,  I'm 
afraid." 

"No,"  said  Gertrude  sadly,  "I  haven't  any 
thing  of  that  kind  to  help  me  out.  I  some 
times  wish  that  I  could  write  a  great  novel. 
I  know,  of  course,  that  that  sounds  absurd, 
but  I  do  so  want  to  do  something  worth 
doing." 

Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  smiled  amusedly  at  her 
companion. 

"  I  hope,"  she  said,  "  that  you  won't  give  way 
to  the  temptation,  my  dear.  But,  seriously, 
Gertrude,  I  want  you  to  make  me  a  promise, 
a  solemn  promise,  for  the  sake  of  your  own 
happiness." 

"  What  is  it  ? "  asked  Gertrude,  a  sad  smile 
on  her  face.  "  I  am  in  the  mood  to  promise 
almost  anything." 

"  Then,  Gertrude,"  said  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett, 
gently  stroking  her  friend's  hand,  "then,  I 
want  you  to  promise  me  that  you  will  fall  in 
love." 

Gertrude  laughed,  almost  merrily. 


The  Manhattaners.  135 

"  What  a  strange  request,  Harriet !  I  don't 
see  what  my  word  given  to  you  would  be  worth 
in  such  a  case."  Then  her  face  took  on  a  look 
of  sadness.  "  I  wonder,"  she  said  musingly, 
"if  I  ought  to  tell  you  something.  I  should 
like  to  so  much,  Harriet,  but  it  doesn't  seem 
to  be  quite  fair." 

Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  threw  her  arm  around 
Gertrude's  neck,  and  drew  her  close  to  her 
side. 

"You  can  trust  me,  Gertrude.  Don't  you 
know  you  can  ?  I  knew  that  you  had  some 
thing  to  tell  me.  Whisper  it,  my  dear.  What 
is  it?" 

Gertrude  bent  her  head  close  to  her  confi 
dante's  ear. 

"  Buchanan  Budd  proposed  to  me  last  night, 
Harriet." 

"And  you  "  — 

"And  I  refused  him,"  answered  Gertrude, 
a  hysterical  break  in  her  voice. 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  said  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett 
caressingly,  as  she  gently  stroked  Gertrude's 
luxuriant  hair. 


136  The  Manhattaners. 

The  girl's  eyes  met  hers  questioningly. 

"Sorry,  Harriet;  sorry  that  I  refused  him  ?" 

"No,  no,  my  dear;  not  that  at  all.  I'm 
sorry  that  you  had  to  go  through  such  an  or 
deal.  But,  Gertrude,  you  have  something 
more  to  tell  me  —  something  more  important." 

Gertrude  Van  Vleck  drew  herself  up  and 
looked  at  her  friend  searchingly 

"You  are  so  hard  to  satisfy,  Harriet,"  she 
exclaimed  at  length.  "  Is  it  not  enough  that 
I  have  confessed  to  you  that  a  man  proposed 
to  me  last  night,  and  that  I  rejected  him. 
Really,  my  dear,  you  must  check  your  awful 
appetite  for  gossip." 

Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  arose,  a  hurt  look  on 
her  face. 

"  I  don't  wonder,  Gertrude,  that  a  good 
many  people  fear  you.  You  say  very  cutting 
things  at  times." 

"Forgive  me,  Harriet,"  cried  Gertrude  im 
pulsively.  "  Come,  sit  down  here.  I  didn't 
mean  to  be  sarcastic,  my  dear.  That's  nice 
of  you.  Come  close  to  me.  Don't  you  know, 
Harriet,  that  the  penitent  never  tells  quite 


The  Manhattaners.  137 

all  that  is  on  her  soul,  at  the  confessional  ? 
You  mustn't  expect  too  much  of  me.  I'm 
only  human,  you  know,  my  dear.  What  would 
a  woman  be  without  her  secret  ?  You  must 
let  me  have  mine,  Harriet,  and  I  will  not  ask 
for  yours." 

Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  flushed  slightly  as  her 
eyes  met  Gertrude's. 

"Perhaps  I  was  too  exacting,  Gertrude," 
she  said  softly.  "But  I  am  so  anxious  to  see 
you  perfectly  happy,  that  I  let  my  wishes  get 
the  better  of  my  discretion.  You'll  forgive 
me,  won't  you  ?  " 

"Anxious  to  see  me  perfectly  happy,"  re 
peated  Gertrude  musingly.  "  And  that  seems 
to  mean,  Harriet,  that  you  would  like  to  have 
me  married." 

Mrs.   Percy-Bartlett  laughed  nervously. 

"It  does  appear  illogical,"  she  remarked  in 
a  voice  that  sounded  cold  and  hard,  even  to 
herself.  "  It  is  curious  how  marriage  seems 
to  make  every  woman  a  match-maker.  I'm 
sure  that  I,  for  one,  can't  understand  it." 

There  was  silence  in  the  room  for  several 


138  The  Manhattaners. 

moments.  Gertrude  and  Harriet  understood 
each  other  perfectly ;  but  there  is  always  a 
well-defined  limit  to  frankness  between  two 
women,  especially  when  one  is  married  and 
the  other  not. 

With  studied  composure,  Gertrude  asked 
indifferently,  as  she  rose  to  go  : — 

"  Have  you  seen  Mr.  Stoughton  recently, 
Harriet  ? " 

"  Yes,  he  has  called  several  times." 

"  And  you  like  him  ? " 

"Very  much.  He  is  coming  to-night,  I  be 
lieve.  We  are  very  good  friends. 

With  an  impulsiveness  that  was  not  habitual 
with  her,  Gertrude  bent  and  kissed  her  friend 
on  the  lips. 

"  Be  careful,  Harriet.  Be  careful,"  she 
whispered,  and  then  turned  and  left  the  room. 


The  Manhattaners.  139 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"You  look  tired,  Mr.  Stoughton.  You  have 
been  working  too  hard." 

Thus  said  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  to  Richard,  as 
her  brown  eyes  rested  questioningly  on  his  pale 
countenance.  When  a  woman  frankly  com 
ments  on  a  man's  appearance  to  his  face  it  is 
evident  that  her  friendship  for  him  is  on  a  very 
firm  basis. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  returned  Richard,  smiling 
gratefully.  "  I  sometimes  get  very  tired  of 
pouring  water  through  a  sieve  ;  of  rolling  a 
stone  to  the  top  of  a  hill  every  day  to  find  it 
at  the  bottom  the  next  morning." 

She  bent  toward  him,  and  looked  up  into 
his  face  earnestly. 

"But  it  must  be  a  glorious  privilege,  Mr. 
Stoughton,  to  feel  that  what  you  write  is  read 
by  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  of  people ; 
that  you  are  an  important  part  of  that  great 
force  in  modern  life,  the  daily  press.'' 


140  The  Manhattaners. 

"In  one  sense,"  he  returned  thoughtfully, 
"it  is  a  satisfaction  to  know  that  you  are  ad 
dressing  a  large  audience  —  an  audience  that 
is  powerless  to  hiss  you  off  the  stage  if  it  is 
not  pleased  with  your  words.  But  at  its  best 
my  editorial  work  is  both  ephemeral  and  anon 
ymous." 

She  smiled  at  him  sympathizingly. 

"I  know  what  is  in  your  mind,"  she  ex 
claimed.  "  You  desire  the  recognition  and 
applause  of  the  public.  But  that  is  sure  to 
come  to  you  in  time.  You  have  great  talents, 
Mr.  Stoughton  ;  and — pardon  me  for  saying 
so  —  you  are  young,  and  can  afford  to  wait." 

They  were  silent  for  a  time,  proof  positive 
that  their  friendship  had  made  great  progress. 
It  is  not  so  much  what  people  say  to  each 
other  as  what  they  conceal  from  each  other, 
that  marks  the  status  of  their  intercourse.  A 
long  silence  between  a  man  and  woman  seated 
alone  together  is  very  eloquent ;  and  its  sig 
nificance  is  in  direct  ratio  to  their  mental  alert 
ness.  There  is  no  dynamic  repression  in  the 
silence  of  a  stick  and  a  stone;  but  when  the 


The  Manhattaners.  141 

gods  on  Olympus  cease  to  speak,  the  earth 
trembles  with  apprehension. 

"Do  you  know,"  remarked  Richard  at  length, 
"that  I  have  lost  something  of  the  ambition 
that  inspired  me  some  months  ago  ?  Perhaps 
I  have  grown  weary  of  work,  or  this  great  city 
has  had  a  depressing  effect  upon  my  aspira 
tions.  Whatever  may  be  the  reason,  however, 
I  find  that  I  no  longer  build  the  castles  in  the 
air  that  I  raised  with  so  much  enthusiasm  not 
long  ago.  Why  is  it,  do  you  think  ? " 

He  glanced  at  her  searchingly ;  and,  as  their 
eyes  met,  her  cheeks  lost  something  of  their 
color. 

"  Ambition  may  sleep,  but  it  never  dies, 
Mr.  Stoughton.  You  are  suffering  from  the 
reaction  of  your  sudden  and  remarkable  suc 
cess." 

"My  success!"  he  exclaimed.  "Yes;  I  have 
won  one  great  and  gratifying  success  since  I 
came  to  New  York  ;  and  only  one." 

"And  that  is?"  she  asked  softly,  and  with 
averted  eyes. 

"  I  have  made  you  my  friend,"  he  said,  bend- 


142  The  Manhattaners. 

ing  toward  her  until  the  perfume  of  her  luxu 
riant  hair  thrilled  him  with  vague  ecstasy,  and 
the  smile  on  her  lips  seemed  almost  a  caress. 

Suddenly  she  looked  up  at  him,  and  in  her 
eyes  lay  a  troubled  and  beseeching  gleam. 

"And  the  price  of  my  friendship  —  are  you 
willing  to  pay  it  ? "  she  asked  gently. 

"  Of  course  I  am ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  No  sac 
rifice  on  my  part  is  too  great  to  make  in  such 
a  cause.  Bargains  like  this  one  are  made  in 
heaven,  are  they  not  ? " 

"  She  glanced  at  him  with  an  expression  in 
her  eyes  that  told  him  he  had  wounded  her. 
Without  a  word  she  arose  and  walked  into 
the  music-room,  and  he  followed  her  with  a 
repentant  look  in  his  face.  Seating  herself 
at  the  piano,  she  played  softly  some  of  the 
Lenten  music  she  had  heard  at  the  afternoon 
service. 

The  prayer  of  a  heart-broken  world  breathed 
in  the  sobbing  chords.  Then  the  movement 
changed,  and  the  harmony  seemed  to  promise 
rest  and  peace  to  the  weary  sons  of  men.  The 
spirit  of  the  penitential  season  had  been  crys- 


The  Manhattaners.  143 

tallized  in  sound,  and  touched  the  heart  as 
though  a  voice  had  whispered  from  another 
world. 

The  music  died  away,  as  if  the  infinite  had 
taken  to  its  breast  the  tired  soul  of  one  who 
cried  aloud,  then  passed  away  in  peace ;  and  she 
turned  and  looked  into  the  face  of  the  youth  at 
at  her  side. 

"  Is  it  not  restful  ? "  she  asked  gently.  "  How 
wonderful  it  is  that  music  should  so  change  our 
mood  and  aspirations." 

"And  you  forgive  me?"  he  asked  penitently. 

She  laughed  almost  gayly. 

"Is  it  not  a  habit  I've  fallen  into?  I  am 
always  granting  you  pardon,  am  I  not  ?  Do 
you  remember,  the  very  first  time  I  met  you 
you  were  obliged  to  ask  forgiveness  for 
what  you  said.  How  many  times  since  then 
I've  pardoned  you  I  can  hardly  say.  You 
have  been  very  rebellious." 

"How  could  I  be  otherwise?"  he  exclaimed, 
his  eyes  avoiding  hers.  "  Does  the  prisoner 
feel  less  impatient  because  of  his  chains.  It 
is  so  difficult,  is  it  not,  to  be  civilized  ? " 


144  The  Manhattan ers. 

"I  hardly  understand  you,  Mr.  Stoughton," 
she  said,  trying  hard  to  speak  very  coldly. 

" '  Cursed  be   the   social   lies   that  warp   us   from  the  living 
truth," 

he  quoted. 

"  How  thoroughly  Tennyson  gives  expres 
sion  to  the  revolt  of  youth  against  the  shac 
kles  that  civilization,  so  called,  has  thrown 
around  it !  I  think  I  know,  to  my  cost,  how 
he  felt  when  he  wrote  certain  lines  in  '  Locks- 
ley  Hall.'" 

Richard  took  a  few  steps  up  and  down  the 
room,  and  then  threw  himself  into  a  chair  and 
looked  steadfastly  at  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett.  Her 
face  had  lost  its  color,  and  there  were  dark 
shadows  beneath  her  eyes,  while  a  smile  of 
sadness,  perhaps  of  regret,  hovered  round  her 
mouth. 

"I  have  something  to  say  to  you,"  she  re 
marked,  after  a  moment's  silence,  her  voice  low 
and  firm.  "  You  must  sit  where  you  are  and 
listen  to  me  attentively.  Will  you  promise  me 
to  weigh  my  words  carefully  and  —  and  —  not 
misunderstand  me  ? " 


The  Manhattaners.  145 

He  saw  that  she  was  essaying  a  difficult  task, 
and  he  said  gently,  — 

"  I  promise  ;  go  on." 

"Then,"  she  continued,  smiling  at  him  grate 
fully,  "  I  want  to  say  frankly  that  I  have  taken 
a  great  deal  of  pleasure  in  our  friendship.  It  is 
hardly  necessary,  however,  to  tell  you  that.  I 
think  I  have  proved  it  to  you  in  many  ways. 
But  the  time  has  come  when  it  rests  with  you 
as  to  what  the  future  shall  hold  for  us.  If  you 
are  willing  to  be  a  true  and  unselfish  friend 
to  me,  —  to  be  'civilized'  in  the  highest  sense 
of  the  word,  —  we  can  go  on  as  we  have  gone 
before.  But  if  —  if  your  chains  fret  you  too 
much,  or  if  there  is  the  slightest  danger  that 
you  will  ever  break  them,  then  it  is  better  that 
we  should  part.  It  is  so  easy  for  a  man  to  mis 
understand  a  woman  —  therefore,  I  am  frank 
with  you.  Are  you  not  grateful?  Don't  you 
thank  me  ?"  There  was  a  note  of  pleading  in 
her  voice. 

Richard  arose,  and  moved  restlessly  up  and 
down  the  room  a  moment.  Civilization  decreed 
that  he  should  remain  seated  and  suppress  all 


146  The  Manhattaners. 

evidences  of  emotion  ;  but  there  is  a  strong  vein 
of  savagery  in  youth,  and  Richard  Stoughton 
was  very  young. 

"'They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and 
wait ! '"  he  exclaimed  irrelevantly. 

Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  laughed  outright. 

"  The  quotation  does  you  credit  in  one  \vaf, 
Mr.  Stoughton,  even  if  it  doesn't  seem  to  be 
very  apropos" 

"Perhaps  not,"  he  acknowledged,  reseating 
himself.  "But  somehow  it  has  relieved  the 
situation.  At  least,  let  it  indicate  that  I 
accept  your  ultimatum." 

"  If  I  knew  you  well  enough,"  commented 
Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  smilingly,  "  I  should  say 
that  that  sounded  rather  cross.  I  hate  to 
think  that  I  have  formulated  an  ultimatum. 
That  seems  unwomanly,  does  it  not  ? " 

"  I  hardly  know,"  he  said  musingly.  "  It 
is  hard  to  tell  in  these  days  what  is  womanly 
and  what  is  not.  A  few  years  ago  we  would 
have  said  that  it  was  unwomanly  for  a  girl  to 
stand  before  a  miscellaneous  audience  and 
make  a  political  speech.  No  one  would  dare 
to  take  that  ground  now." 


The  Manhattaners.  147 

Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  smiled  sympathizingly. 

"  I  am  sure,"  she  said,  "  that  you  don't  ap 
prove  of  the  effort  of  woman  to  break  away 
from  the  old  restrictions." 

"  Not  altogether,"  he  answered  frankly.  "  I 
have  a  strong  vein  of  New  England  conserva 
tism  in  my  make-up.  It  revolts  against  many 
of  the  end-of-the-century  ideas  that  are  making 
such  progress  in  this  city." 

And  so  they  talked  on  for  a  time,  in  a  vein 
that  proved  the  thorough  efficacy  of  Mrs. 
Percy-Bartlett's  ultimatum. 

"It  is  so  much  better,"  she  said,  as  she 
arose  to  give  him  her  hand  at  parting,  "it  is 
so  much  better  to  talk  about  the  '  new  woman ' 
than  —  than  "  — 

"  Than  the  old  Adam,"  he  added.  "  Yes,  I 
agree  with  you  —  for  the  sake  of  friendship." 

"  And  you  are  my  friend,"  she  cried  impul 
sively,  while  he  still  held  her  hand,  suddenly 
grown  cold. 

"  Yes,"  he  murmured  in  a  muffled  tone, 
bending  and  kissing  the  slender  fingers  in  his 
grasp. 


148  The  Manhattaners. 

She  stood  at  the  entrance  to  the  music-room 
until  she  heard  the  hall-door  close.  Then  she 
turned,  and  seated  herself  at  the  piano.  It 
was  here  that  Percy-Bartlett  found  her,  idly 
weaving  strange  melodies  as  the  night  grew  old. 

"  You  look  pale  and  tired,  dear,"  he  said 
gently,  as  he  bent  and  kissed  her  colorless 
cheek.  "  I  did  not  think  that  you  would  wait 
up." 

"  Is  it  late  ?  "  she  asked  wearily.  "  I  had 
lost  all  track  of  time." 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad,"  remarked  her  hus 
band,  seating  himself  and  lighting  a  cigar, 
"when  my  affairs  and  the  nation's  are  so 
arranged  that  I  won't  be  obliged  to  talk  busi 
ness  at  night.  Has  no  one  been  in,  Harriet  ? " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  in  a  careless  tone,  and 
striking  a  few  soft  chords  on  the  instrument; 
"  Mr.  Stoughton  called,  and  stayed  an  hour  or 
so." 

Percy-Bartlett  flicked  the  ashes  from  his  ci 
gar  impatiently.  He  was  silent  for  some  time, 
firmly  suppressing  any  feeling  of  annoyance 
that  her  words  had  caused. 


The  Manhattaners. 


149 


"  You  find  the  boy  interesting  ? "  he  asked 
coldly. 

She  looked  at  him  calmly  an  instant,  and 
then  said  indifferently,  — 

"  Well  —  I  prefer  him  to  solitude,  at  least." 

Then  she  arose  and  said  "good-night,"  leav 
ing  Percy-Bartlett  to  such  comfort  as  he  could 
derive  from  his  thoughts  and  his  tobacco. 


150  The  Manhattaners. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

IT  was  Saturday  night  at  La  Ria's.  John 
Fenton  and  Richard  Stoughton  were  seated 
side  by  side  near  one  end  of  the  room,  awaiting 
with  true  La  Rian  patience  the  coming  of  the 
soup.  No  one  who  is  in  a  hurry  ever  goes  to 
La  Ria's  on  Saturday  night.  Impatience  is 
sacrilege  in  that  Bohemian  republic  that  lies 
under  the  sidewalk  on  a  down-town  street,  and 
draws  into  its  charming  boundaries  many  of 
the  brightest  men  and  most  attractive  women 
in  the  city.  La  Ria's  is  both  a  pleasure  and  a 
protest.  The  pleasure  is  on  the  surface,  the 
protest  is  underneath.  The  former  is  what  the 
true  La  Rian  feels,  the  latter  is  what  he  thinks. 
His  presence  on  Saturday  evening  in  that  fa 
mous  restaurant  proves  his  unwillingness  to 
permit  the  New  World's  metropolis  to  become 
nothing  but  a  colorless  aggregation  of  very 
wealthy  and  very  poor  citizens.  La  Ria's 


The  Manhattaners. 


furnishes  an  outlet  both  to  the  rich  and  poor 
for  the  inherent  fondness  in  men  and  women 
for  the  picturesque  and  unconventional. 

There  is  nothing  attractive  in  this  low- 
ceilinged  room,  blue  with  cigarette-smoke  even 
before  the  soup  is  served;  but  if  you  ask  the 
loyal  La  Rian  if  he  would  have  the  "historic 
banquet-hall  "  —  as  an  enthusiastic  reporter 
once  called  it  —  changed  in  any  important  par 
ticular,  he  would  look  at  you  in  scorn.  Raise 
the  ceiling,  decorate  the  walls,  put  in  mirrors 
and  gilding  and  rugs  and  a  costly  service,  and 
the  broken-hearted  La  Rians  would  file  sorrow 
fully  out  into  the  night,  bewailing  the  moment 
when  money  had  thrown  its  fatal  blight  over 
the  one  spot  in  the  city  where  the  millionnaire 
sinks  into  insignificance  when  he  comes  to  dine 
with  the  poet  and  the  artist  and  the  journalist, 
and  where,  once  a  week  at  least,  there  is  "a 
feast  of  reason  and  a  flow  of  soul." 

"  There  is  a  fascination  about  this  sort  of 
thing  that  is  irresistible,"  whispered  Richard 
to  John  Fenton,  as  he  sipped  his  claret  after 
the  dinner  had  been  fairly  started  and  gazed 


152  The  Manhattaners. 

around  him  in  delight.  He  was  still  young 
enough  and  sufficiently  unsophisticated  to  en 
joy  the  glamour  of  his  surroundings  without 
looking  beneath  the  surface,  and  seeing  there 
the  life-tragedies  that  the  actors  in  the  scene 
before  him  concealed  under  the  mask  of  gayety. 
His  eye  caught  the  smiling  glance  of  a  dark- 
haired  girl,  with  classically  regular  features  and 
a  delicately  shaped  hand,  who  raised  her  wine 
glass  as  she  returned  his  smile  and  seemed  to 
pledge  his  health  with  the  utmost  goodfellow- 
ship.  She  sat  at  a  table  half-way  down  the 
room,  and  had  been  laughing  and  chatting  with 
several  men  wearing  Van  Dyke  beards,  one  of 
whom,  Richard  learned  later,  was  a  famous 
painter  of  perfectly  innocuous  landscapes  —  a 
man  who  looked  like  Mephistopheles,  but  said 
his  prayers  before  retiring. 

"Be  careful,  Richard,"  remarked  Fenton 
good-naturedly  ;  "she's  a  beautiful  girl,  but 
very  dangerous." 

The  young  man  glanced  up  at  his  friend 
laughingly. 

"  You  brought  me  here,  John.  You  are 
responsible  for  the  consequences." 


The  Manhattaners.  153 

"  Am  I  my  brother's  keeper  ? "  asked  the 
elder  man  solemnly.  "  You  are  old  enough, 
Richard,  to  take  care  of  yourself,  I  suppose.  I 
wash  my  hands  of  the  whole  affair." 

As  the  dinner  progressed,  Richard  felt  an 
intoxication  that  had  no  foundation  in  wine ; 
for  he  was  not  fond  of  alcoholic  stimulants, 
and  drank  very  sparingly.  There  was  a  strange 
exhilaration  in  his  surroundings  that  gave  him 
a  novel  sensation.  Of  the  hundred  and  more 
men  and  women  in  the  room  he  knew  little  or 
nothing  ;  but  he  could  see  that  among  them 
were  those  of  both  sexes  whose  faces  and  bear 
ing  indicated  refinement  and  high  birth.  That 
there  were  others  whose  origin  was  question 
able,  and  who  carried  with  them  the  stamp  of 
vulgarity,  did  not  alter,  but  emphasized,  the 
fact  that  the  noble  blood  of  Bohemia  was 
represented  before  his  gaze.  After  a  time  he 
gave  up  generalizing  about  his  companions,  and 
found  his  attention  concentrated  on  the  girl 
who  had  smilingly  touched  her  glass  to  him. 
By  the  time  the  cheese  and  coffee  had  come 
he  was  obliged  to  admit  that  she  possessed  the 


154  The  Manhattaners. 

most  fascinating  face  he  had  yet  seen,  and  that 
there  was  something  in  the  glance  of  her  dark 
eyes  more  intoxicating  than  any  cordial  he  had 
ever  sipped.  As  he  lighted  a  cigarette,  and 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  to  listen  to  the  songs 
and  speeches  that  Fenton  had  told  him  would 
follow  the  dessert,  he  found  himself  reproach 
ing  his  own  fickleness,  but  more  than  ever 
determined  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the 
jo  lie  Bohemienne. 

"  Wine,  women,  and  song  ! "  exclaimed  a  dig 
nified  but  genial-looking  man,  arising  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  room,  as  if  to  crystallize 
in  one  effort  the  scattered  elements  of  good- 
fellowship  begotten  by  the  modest  but  very 
eatable  dinner,  "and  the  greatest  of  these 
is "  —  He  paused,  as  if  waiting  for  a  reply. 

"Wine,"  cried  a  few;  "women,"  shouted 
many;  and  a  solitary  voice  said  "song." 

Turning  instantly  to  the  reckless  individual 
who  had  declared  in  favor  of  song,  the  toast- 
master  called  upon  him  by  name  to  arise  and 
vindicate  his  position.  Blushing  more  with  an 
noyance  than  modesty,  a  young  man  stood  up 


The  Manhattaners.  155 

and  broke  the  silence  that  followed  by  chant 
ing  in  a  pleasing  but  untrained  voice  a  ballad 
of  Rtidyard  Kipling,  set  to  music  by  the 
singer.  A  round  of  applause  followed,  and 
the  ice  was  broken.  Songs  and  stories  fol 
lowed  each  other  in  rapid  succession. 

"It's  great!"  exclaimed  Richard  in  Fenton's 
ear ;  and  again  he  raised  his  glass  to  the  dark- 
haired  girl,  who  was  puffing  a  cigarette  in  a 
nonchalant  way  and  smiling  cordially,  now  and 
again,  as  she  caught  Richard's  eye. 

The  toast-master  arose,  and,  putting  up  his 
hand  for  silence,  said  with  simple  eloquence,  — 

"  The  priests  and  ministers,  the  bishops  and 
strolling  preachers,  have  through  the  ages  called 
themselves  '  divines  ; '  and,  lo  !  they  stand  aside, 
and  we,  the  moderns,  give  that  title  in  our 
heart  of  hearts  to  the  poets,  the  dramatists, 
the  weavers  of  tales  that  touch  the  soul,  the 
wonder-workers  in  words  and  thoughts  who 
have  wrought  that  glorious  temple  we  call  lit 
erature.  Homer  and  Plato  and  Horace  and 
Shakespeare  and  Goethe,  —  these  are  the  true 
'  divines ; '  these  are  the  inspired  and  anointed 


156  The  Manhattaners. 

teachers  who,  making  no  demands  for  our  rev 
erence  and  awe,  find  all  the  generations  bend 
ing  the  knee  before  them." 

He  paused  for  breath,  and  a  round  of  ap 
plause  drove  the  tobacco-smoke  against  the 
ceiling. 

"With  this  introduction,"  he  went  on,  "I 
will  present  an  old  friend  of  yours,  who  has 
written  a  poem  that  he  has  modestly  informed 
me  is  '  simply  great.'  " 

A  shout  of  laughter  greeted  this  sally,  as  a 
tall,  slim  man  with  gray  hair  and  a  youthful 
cast  of  countenance  arose.  That  he  was  well 
known  and  thoroughly  liked  was  proved  by  the 
applause  that  welcomed  him. 

He  stood  at  the  end  of  the  table  at  which 
Richard's  inamorata  was  seated ;  and,  as  he 
recited  the  following  poem,  he  indicated  by 
look  and  gesture  that  the  dark-haired  girl  had 
been  its  inspiration  —  by-play  that  amused  his 
hearers,  but  filled  Richard  with  a  jealousy  that 
was  as  pronounced  as  it  was  unreasonable. 

"  I  call  this  little  effort  to  amuse  you,"  said 
the  poet,  "  Prince  Spaghetti's  Vengeance." 


The  Manhattaners.  157 

Then  he  recited,  with  a  good  deal  of  elocu 
tionary  cleverness,  the  following  lines  :  • 

"Not  where  garish  lights  are  gleaming, 

Not  in  brilliant  banquet-hall, 
Not  where  waiters,  silent,  solemn, 

Make  the  gaudy  grandeur  pall; 
Not  where  wine  is  so  expensive 

That  your  very  thirst  seems  crime, 
And  to  '  wet  your  whistle '  often 

Is  a  recklessness  sublime; 
But  for  us  a  quiet  corner 

In  a  side -street,  down  a  stair, 
Vive  Boheme  and   Vive  La  Ria  ! 

Who  would  be  a  millionnaire  ? 
Here  are  brains,  served  up  en  ton  mot, 

Here's  spaghetti,  piping  hot; 
Here's  a  crowd  of  jolly  fellows, 

Well  contented  with  their  lot. 
Mayhap,  as  the  feast  progresses, 

And  the  wine  flows  with  the  wit, 
Visions  come,  and  fancy  whispers 

'Tis  a  palace  where  we  sit. 
'Tis  the  palace  Macaroni, 

Built  in  ages  long  ago 
By  a  count  of  many  titles, 

Where  the  waves  of  Tiber  flow. 
How  we  got  there  doesn't  matter. 

Maraschino  ?     Yes  —  a  drop. 
Thanks !  a  little  bit  of  cognac  ? 

Just  a  trifle,  on  the  top. 
And  the  palace  by  the  Tiber, 

Where  we  dine  to-night  in  state, 


158  The  Manhattaners. 


Here  it  was  Count  Macaroni 

Met  his  most  heart-rending  fate. 
'Twas  when  Rome  was  in  a  ferment, 

As  she  used  to  be  at  times  — 
Strange  how  black  that  ancient  city 

Is  with  undiscovered  crimes  — 
Then  it  was  that  Macaroni 

Princess  Gorgonzola  met  — 
Yes,  methinks  your  face  is  like  her, 

Seen  beyond  this  cigarette. 
Gorgonzola,  she  was  charming, 

Black-eyed  maiden,  ripe  to  fall 
In  the  arms  of  Love,  if  mother 

Let  her  get  beyond  her  call. 
Macaroni,  Gorgonzola, 

They  were  such  a  handsome  pair 
That  in  strolling  by  the  Tiber 

E'en  the  boatmen  had  to  stare. 
Well,  where  am  I  ?     In  La  Ria's  ? 

No;  Saint  Peter  knows  I'm  not. 
Just  another  sip  of  cognac  ? 

Thanks  —  it  reached  the  very  spot. 
Well,  the  Count  and  Gorgonzola 

By  a  villain  were  pursued, 
Prince  Spaghetti  was  his  title  — 

Scion  of  an  evil  brood. 
Prince  Spaghetti  loved  the  maiden 

In  a  weird  and  wicked  way, 
And  he  swore  that  Macaroni 

Must  forswear  the  light  of  day. 
Thus  he  mixed  a  potent  poison 

In  a  glass  of  ruby  wine  — 
Yes,  I'll  light  one  more  perfecto  — 

Gad,  I  think  the  earth  is  mine ! 


The  Manhattaners.  159 

One  more  little  sip  of  cognac  ? 

Thanks,  I  cannot  say  thee  nay; 
Well  —  where  was  I  ?     Oh,  Spaghetti 

Macaroni  meant  to  slay. 
Did  I  kill  him?     Say,  my  fair  one, 

You  with  Gorgonzola's  eyes, 
Did  I  make  him  drink  the  poison? 

Answer  —  you  who  were  the  prize. 
Well,  the  tale  is  nearly  ended  — 

Strange  that  I  should  live  to-night, 
Dining  in  La  Ria's  with  you. 

Thanks!  that  cognac's  out  of  sight.' 

A  roar  of  delight  rewarded  the  poet's  effort ; 
and  he  reseated  himself  smilingly,  while  the 
dark-eyed  maiden  at  his  table  —  who,  by  the 
way,  went  by  the  name  of  "  Gorgonzola  "  ever 
after — raised  her  /fcpwrsirglass,  and  drank  grate 
fully  to  the  genius  who  had  done  what  he  could 
to  immortalize  her  beauty. 

The  hour  was  growing  late,  and  the  jolly 
diners  had  begun  to  disperse.  Fenton  was 
engaged  in  a  discussion  of  the  single-tax 
theory  with  an  English  newspaper  correspon 
dent  on  his  left,  when  Richard  noticed  with 
regret  that  his  inamorata  and  her  friends,  the 
artists,  had  arisen  to  take  their  departure.  It 
was  time  for  decisive  action ;  and  impulsively 


160  The  Manhattaners. 

he  fumbled  in  his  cardcase,  found  his  pencil  in 
time  to  write  his  address  on  one  of  his  paste 
boards,  and  had  resumed  a  position  of  becoming 
dignity  before  the  gay  group,  making  for  the 
entrance,  had  reached  his  table.  As  the  girl 
passed  him,  smiling  down  at  him  with  her 
dancing  black  eyes,  he  handed  the  card  to 
her.  It  was  all  over  in  a  moment,  and 
Richard  found  himself  practically  alone.  The 
room  seemed  utterly  deserted  after  her  depar 
ture. 

"Well,  young  light-o'-love,"  remarked  Fen- 
ton,  as  they  strolled  homeward,  "  have  you  had 
a  pleasant  evening  ?  " 

"Delightful,  John,"  answered  the  youth. 
Then  he  said  earnestly, — 

"John,  at  what  age  do  you  think  that  it  is 
possible  for  a  man  to  fall  honestly  and  thor 
oughly  in  love  ? " 

"Not  until  after  he  is  forty,  my  boy,"  an 
swered  Fenton  gravely.  "Don't  take  yourself 
or  anybody  else  too  seriously,  Richard,  until 
you  have  reached  middle  life." 

"That's  not  the  doctrine  you  preached  to  me 


The  Manhattaners.  161 

some  months  ago,  John  Fenton,"  said  Richard 
thoughtfully. 

"I  know  you  better  now,  my  dear  fellow," 
returned  Fenton,  adding  to  himself,  "and  my 
self  too." 


1 62  The  Manhattaners. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

THAT  John  Fenton  was  in  a  peculiar  frame 
of  mind  was  sufficiently  proved  by  the  fact 
that  Sunday  morning  had  arrived,  and  he  had 
arisen  early,  —  very  early,  three  hours  before 
noon,  —  and  was  pleased  at  this  innovation  in 
his  habits.  It  was  a  clear,  bracing  day,  with 
a  promise  of  spring  in  the  air,  and  a  saline 
odor  in  the  breeze,  a  public  confession  that 
it  had  kissed  the  sea  when  the  sun  came  up. 
How  much  he  owes  to  the  salt  air  for  the 
sprightliness  that  is  in  him  the  average  New 
Yorker  seldom  realizes.  Manhattan  Island  is 
a  natural  health-resort.  That  many  of  its  in 
habitants  languish  and  die  before  their  time 
is  the  fault  not  of  nature  but  of  man. 

John  Fenton  strode  down  the  avenue  after 
breakfast,  one  of  the  best-dressed  men  abroad 
at  that  early  hour.  The  last  few  months  had 
made  a  great  change  in  his  outward  appear- 


The  Manhattaners.  163 

ance.  Somewhat  to  his  surprise,  he  had  found 
that  by  refraining  from  alcoholic  self-indul 
gence  he  had  not  only  gained  in  nervous 
energy,  but  had  reaped  a  fat  financial  harvest. 
Renewing  his  youth  in  more  ways  than  one, 
he  had  expended  at  his  tailor's  money  that, 
under  his  former  habits  of  life,  would  have 
gone  to  swell  a  saloon's  growing  surplus.  He 
had  been  noted  in  the  old  days  for  his  good 
taste  in  dress,  and  his  years  of  carelessness 
had  not  destroyed  his  natural  ability  to  select 
attire  that  was  at  once  fashionable  and  becom 
ing. 

With  a  clean-shaven  face,  a  glow  on-  his 
cheeks,  and  the  light  of  physical  contentment 
in  his  eyes,  John  Fenton  looked  positively 
handsome  as  he  entered  Richard  Stoughton's 
rooms,  and  found  his  young  friend,  en  ne'glige', 
smoking  a  pipe,  and  perusing,  with  a  sense 
of  self-satisfaction  that  age  cannot  wither  nor 
custom  stale,  his  work  of  the  previous  day  as 
it  appeared  in  print  in  that  morning's  edition 
of  the  Trumpet. 

"What  is  it  I  see  before  me?"  cried  Rich- 


164  The  Manhattaners. 

ard,  springing  up,  and  holding  out  his  hand  to 
his  guest.  "  Upon  what  meat  doth  this,  our 
Caesar,  feed,  that  he  gets  up  and  out  before 
noon  ?  " 

Fenton  seated  himself,  and  lighted  a  cigar. 

"  Do  you  know,  my  boy,"  he  remarked 
quietly,  "  I  have  spent  the  night  in  a  sleepless 
vigil,  pondering  the  error  of  your  ways.  I 
have  become  convinced  that  it  is  absolutely 
imperative  that  you  should  be  given  an  anti 
dote  for  last  night's  poison." 

"  I  did  smoke  too  much,  I  acknowledge," 
returned  Richard  densely ;  "  but  I  have  drunk 
several  cups  of  coffee  this  morning,  and  feel 
much  better." 

"  Flippant  youngster  !  have  you  no  reverence 
in  your  make-up  ?  I  referred  not  to  the  cigars, 
but  to  the  tout  ensemble" 

"  Is  that  her  name,  John  ?  It's  a  queer  one, 
you  must  admit.  But,  seriously,  what  are  you 
driving  at  ?  Here  you  are  at  ten  o'clock  on 
Sunday  morning  —  an  hour  that  has  for  years, 
as  you  have  told  me,  found  you  sound  asleep  — 
abroad  in  the  land,  dressed  with  the  most  ex- 


The  Manhattaners.  165 

treme  care,  and  delivering  sermons  gratis  to 
your  friends.  I  acknowledge  that  there  is  a 
mystery  here  that  I  cannot  solve." 

"  It  is  simple  enough,  Richard.  I  have 
come  to  an  important  decision,  and  I  am  about 
to  take  a  step  in  which  I  want  your  companion 
ship  and  sympathy." 

,  There  was  a  solemnity  in  Fenton's  man 
ner  that  caused  Richard  to  look  at  him  with 
mingled  curiosity  and  surprise. 

"  Of  course,  John,  I'll  give  you  all  the  help 
I  can.  But  frankly,  now,  what  are  you  going 
to  do  ? " 

Fenton  puffed  in  silence  for  a  moment,  gaz 
ing  earnestly  at  his  companion. 

"What  am  I  going  to  do,  Richard?  I'm 
going  to  church." 

Richard  laughed  merrily. 

"And  you  want  my  support  and  countenance 
in  this  heroic  purpose  ?  Well,  John,  I  see  no 
reason  why  I  should  discourage  your  eccentric 
but  praiseworthy  design.  If  you'll  amuse  your 
self  with  the  papers  for  a  few  moments,  I  will 
get  into  a  garb  of  a  more  devotional  character 


1 66  The  Manhattaners. 

than  this  old  smoking-jacket.  To  go  to  church 
with  John  Fenton  !  That  is  a  privilege  that  I 
had  never  hoped  to  win.  But  I've  given  up 
all  hope  of  understanding  you,  John.  You're 
a  puzzle  I  can't  solve." 

With  these  words  Richard  entered  an  inner 
room,  and  left  John  Fenton  to  puff  his  cigar, 
and  glance  indifferently  over  the  newspapers. 
It  is  seldom  that  a  true  journalist  cannot  find 
occupation,  even  excitement,  in  the  latest  edi 
tion  of  the  newspaper  with  which  he  is  con 
nected  ;  but,  for  some  reason  or  other,  Fenton 
was  in  no  mood  to  take  his  usual  professional 
interest  in  the  Sunday  make-up  of  the  Trumpet, 
and  when  Richard  returned  to  the  room  he 
found  his  friend  standing  at  the  window,  and 
gazing  dreamily  into  the  street. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  the  two  friends 
were  seated  in  one  of  the  rear  pews  of  a 
church  that  had  kept  pace  with  the  demands 
that  the  modern  love  of  luxury  makes  on  the 
outward  and  visible  signs  of  an  inward  and 
spiritual  cult.  An  agnostic,  even  an  atheist, 
would  have  felt  a  reverential  awe  in  such  sur- 


The  Manhattaners.  167 

roundings,  an  inclination  to  worship  something, 
if  it  was  nothing  but  the  beauty  of  interior 
decoration,  as  an  abstract  influence,  or  the 
concrete  glory  of  well-dressed  women.  There 
is  something  for  all  men  in  a  church  that 
frowns  not  on  the  aesthetic  pleasures  that  the 
eye  and  ear  can  taste. 

As  they  rose  at  the  opening  words  of  the 
service,  "  The  Lord  is  in  his  holy  temple,  let  all 
the  earth  keep  silence  before  him,"  Richard's 
eye  followed  Fenton's,  and  a  new  light  broke 
upon  his  mind.  His  friend  was  not  as  in 
explicably  eccentric  as  he  had  considered  him. 
About  half-way  between  them  and  the  altar, 
and  at  an  angle  that  placed  her  in  full  view 
from  where  they  stood,  Richard  saw  Gertrude 
Van  Vleck,  a  striking  figure  even  in  that  gath 
ering  of  women  of  fashion.  He  turned  on  the 
instant,  and  his  eyes  looked  into  Fenton's.  He 
could  not  repress  a  smile  that  impressed  its 
meaning  upon  the  latter,  whose  face  bore  an 
expression  of  mingled  satisfaction  and  annoy 
ance  as  he  knelt  to  join  in  the  general  con 
fession.  His  satisfaction  was  caused  by  the 


1 68  The  Manhattaners. 

fact  that  he  could  watch  Gertrude  Van  Vleck, 
unobserved  by  her,  for  an  entire  morning.  His 
annoyance  was  due  to  the  mocking  light  in 
Richard's  glance. 

As  the  service  progressed,  with  its  stately 
and  impressive  words  and  forms,  Richard  felt 
keenly  the  influence  of  his  surroundings.  He 
had  been  brought  up  in  the  atmosphere  of  the 
church,  and  under  its  caress  the  highest  dreams 
and  aspirations  of  his  early  youth  were  revivi 
fied.  Before  long  he  had  forgotten  John  Fen- 
ton  and  Gertrude  Van  Vleck  ;  and  as  the  soft 
strains  of  Lenten  music  stole  through  the  per 
fumed  air,  the  face  of  a  brown-eyed  woman 
whose  gaze  was  sad  and  tearful  filled  his  soul 
with  remorse.  He  felt  like  one  who  had  com 
mitted  sacrilege.  The  garish  glitter,  the  taw 
dry  brilliancy,  of  the  night  he  had  spent  in 
Bohemia  seemed  to  him  at  that  moment  piti 
fully  repulsive.  The  dark  face  of  the  girl  who 
had  fascinated  him  for  the  moment  told  its  true 
story  as  he  recalled  it  in  the  calm  and  holy  pre 
cincts  of  the  temple  where  he  sat.  That  he 
had  yielded  to  the  debasing  influence  that  she 


The  Manhattaners.  169 

had  exerted  at  the  time  was  a  fact  that  filled 
him  with  amazement  and  discontent. 

"What  strange  coincidence  is  this?"  he 
exclaimed  to  himself,  as  the  words  of  the 
Epistle  for  the  Third  Sunday  in  Lent  seemed 
to  voice  the  thoughts  that  were  surging  through 
his  brain  :  "  Be  ye  therefore  followers  of  God, 
as  dear  children  ;  and  walk  in  love,  as  Christ 
also  hath  loved  us,  and  hath  given  himself  for  us 
an  offering  and  a  sacrifice  to  God  for  a  sweet- 
smelling  savour.  But  all  uncleanness,  let  it 
not  be  once  named  amongst  you,  as  becometh 
saints ;  neither  foolish  talking,  nor  jesting, 
which  are  not  convenient :  but  rather  giving 
of  thanks.  Have  no  fellowship  with  the  un 
fruitful  works  of  darkness,  but  rather  reprove 
them.  For  it  is  a  shame  even  to  speak 
of  those  things  which  are  done  of  them  in 
secret." 

Richard  Stoughton  was  of  an  extremely  im 
pressionable  temperament,  and  time  had  not 
yet  hardened  the  shell  that  surrounds  the 
soul.  It  seemed  to  him  at  that  moment  as 
though  the  inspired  word  of  God  had  spoken 


170  The  Manhattaners. 

to  him  alone  in  that  consecrated  temple,  and 
had  warned  him  to  seek  higher  things;  to 
avoid,  for  the  sake  of  a  great  reward,  the  mud- 
holes  and  pitfalls  in  the  path  before  him.  He 
knelt  in  prayer  with  a  reverential  fervor  that 
was  new  to  him. 

From  the  Gospel  for  the  day,  St.  Luke  xi.  14, 
the  rector  had  taken  his  text :  "  He  that  is  not 
with  me  is  against  me  ;  and  he  that  gathereth 
not  with  me  scattereth."  Richard  listened  to 
the  sermon  with  an  interest  that  was  almost 
painful.  The  preacher  was  a  man  not  yet  in 
middle  life,  who  had  already  won  a  high  posi 
tion  for  his  eloquence  and  fearlessness.  There 
was  no  prosy  reiteration  of  self-evident  truths 
that  have  lost  their  influence  through  long 
service  in  the  pulpit  in  the  words  that  he 
poured  forth.  He  was  a  man  of  the  times ; 
and  he  applied  the  faith  that  was  in  him  to 
the  topics  of  the  hour,  and  drove  his  lesson 
home  with  a  skill  and  courage  that  were  in 
tensely  effective.  He  seemed  to  recognize 
that  he  was  a  warrior  in  the  front  ranks  of 
the  church  militant,  and  there  was  no  half- 


The  Manhattaners.  171 

heartedness  in  the  blows  that  he  struck.  The 
prosperity  of  a  sermon,  like  that  of  a  jest,  lies 
in  the  ear  of  him  that  hears  it.  Richard  Stough- 
ton  was  in  a  receptive  mood,  and  the  ringing 
words  of  the  preacher  touched  chords  in  his 
nature  that  had  long  ceased  to  vibrate.  He 
bent  his  head  at  the  benediction  with  a  sense 
of  renewed  reverence  and  faith  that  was  both 
welcome  and  inspiring. 

When  or  how  he  lost  track  of  John  Fenton 
he  never  knew.  He  remembered,  later  on, 
that  as  he  had  left  the  church  he  had  caught 
a  glimpse  of  his  friend  walking  down  the  ave 
nue  by  the  side  of  Gertrude  Van  Vleck,  but 
at  the  moment  the  sight  had  made  no  im 
pression  on  him.  The  dominant  thought  in 
his  mind  found  expression  in  the  words  that 
seemed  to  rise  uncontrollably  to  his  lips  :  — 

"  Forgive  us  our  trespasses,  as  we  forgive 
those  who  trespass  against  us.  And  lead  us 
not  into  temptation,  but  deliver  us  from  evil  : 
For  thine  is  the  kingdom,  and  the  power,  and 
the  glory,  forever  and  ever.  Amen." 


i/2  The  Manhattaners. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

IT  was  a  cold  night  in  early  spring.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  winter  had  forgotten  some 
thing,  and  had  returned  to  look  for  it.  Its 
search  being  futile,  it  had  relieved  its  feelings 
by  howling  up  and  down  the  streets,  feebly 
tweaking  the  noses  of  pedestrians  in  its  senile 
disappointment. 

As  an  atmospheric  crazy-quilt,  early  spring 
in  New  York  is  a  success.  The  modern  crav 
ing  for  variety  is  fully  satisfied  in  the  metrop 
olis,  so  far  as  the  weather  is  concerned,  from 
the  last  of  February  to  the  first  of  June.  Be 
tween  those  dates  no  New  Yorker  is  astonished 
at  anything  that  may  be  hurled  at  him  from 
the  skies,  from  a  sunstroke  to  a  blizzard. 

John  Fenton  had  had  a  fire  lighted  in  his 
grate,  and  was  puffing  his  after-dinner  cigar 
before  the  blaze,  bewailing  inwardly  the  fact 
that  he  was  due  at  the  office  of  the  Trumpet 


The  Manhattaners.  173 

within  the  hour.  He  would  have  preferred  to 
spend  the  evening  revising  his  general  theories 
of  life  than  in  correcting  proofs  at  high  pres 
sure  in  the  overwrought  atmosphere  of  a  news 
paper  office. 

He  had  much  to  think  about  and  a  weighty 
decision  to  make.  He  had  been  drifting  in  a 
current  that  had  carried  him  far  in  a  direction 
that  he  had  long  ago  determined  never  to  take 
again.  For  the  moment,  he  could  not  say 
whether  he  was  happy  or  discontented.  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life,  as  he  fully  realized,  he 
was  thoroughly  in  love  ;  but,  as  he  pondered 
the  situation  calmly,  there  seemed  to  be  in 
superable  obstacles  in  the  path  that  led  toward 
happiness. 

"What  am  I,  after  all,  Richard?"  he  said  to 
his  friend,  as  Stoughton  entered  the  room  and 
quietly  seated  himself  at  the  opposite  side  of 
the  fireplace.  "  A  wreck  that  has  been  patched 
up ;  a  failure,  not  quite  hopeless ;  a  man  who 
has  been  condemned  by  the  world,  with  a 
recommendation  to  mercy." 

"  I  don't  like  your  mood,  John,"  remarked 


1/4  The  Manhattaners. 

Richard,  lighting  a  cigarette,  and  puffing  the 
smoke  slowly  into  the  air.  "  No  game  is  lost 
until  the  hand  is  played  out.  I  think  you 
stand  to  win,  if  you  don't  lose  your  pluck.  I 
had  good  news  for  you  to-day." 

"  No  ?  What  was  it  ? "  asked  Fenton,  with 
no  great  show  of  interest. 

"  When  I  reached  the  office  this  morning," 
continued  Richard,  unawed  by  his  friend's  cold 
ness,  "  I  found  two  letters  and  a  bundle  on  my 
desk." 

"Yes?" 

"  One  of  the  letters  was  from  the  dark-eyed 
girl  I  saw  at  La  Ria's." 

Fenton  smiled,  but  said  nothing. 

"  I  tore  it  up,  John.  I  suppose  you  will  call 
me  very  young  — your  pet  accusation." 

"  Hardly,  my  boy,  hardly.  You  have  simply 
proved  that  you  are  wiser  in  the  morning  than 
you  are  at  night." 

"Well,  most  men  are,  I  suppose.  There 
is  nothing  eccentric  or  meritorious  in  that. 
And  so  much  for  'Gorgonzola.'  Let  her 
rest  in  peace.  But  the  other  letter,  John, 


The  Manhattaners.  175 

was  of  more  importance.  It  will  interest 
you." 

"Yes?" 

"  You  see,  old  man,  I  have  played  you  false. 
I  have  come  here  to  confess  and  to  ask  forgive 
ness.  You  remember  you  gave  me  the  manu 
script  of  '  Ephemeras '  to  read.  Well,  I  took 
it  to  a  well-known  publisher,  suppressing  the 
name  of  the  author,  and  asking  for  an  expres 
sion  of  opinion  regarding  its  merits." 

Fenton  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  cigar 
with  a  gesture  of  annoyance,  but  said  nothing. 

"Have  you  no  curiosity,  John?"  exclaimed 
Richard  impatiently.  "  Don't  you  care  to  hear 
the  verdict  ? " 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply  the  youth  arose, 
and,  fumbling  in  his  overcoat  for  a  moment, 
took  therefrom  a  roll  of  manuscript  and  a 
letter. 

"I  am  tempted  to  punish  your  indifference, 
John  ;  but  the  game  is  not  worth  the  candle,  I 
fear.  Never  mind  a  light.  The  letter  is  short. 
I  can  read  it  by  the  fire,  if  you  will  deign  to 
listen.  The  publisher,  John,  expresses  him- 


176  The  Manhattaners. 

self  as  much  pleased  with  the  book,  and  is 
inclined  to  think  that  it  would  find  a  ready 
market.  He  objects,  however,  to  the  title,  and 
to  one  or  two  small  details  in  the  denouement. 
If  you  will  make  the  changes  he  suggests,  how 
ever,  he  will  bring  out  the  story  at  once.  In 
closing  he  politely  hints  that  a  type-written 
copy  be  returned  to  him." 

Fenton  puffed  on  in  silence  for  a  time,  and 
then  leaned  forward  and  took  the  roll  of  manu 
script  from  Richard's  hand.  Hesitating  an 
instant,  as  if  to  make  sure  that  the  decision 
he  had  reached  was  irrevocable,  he  threw  the 
bundle  of  paper  into  the  fire.  Richard  sprang 
forward,  but  Fenton  seized  him  by  the  arm  and 
forced  him  back  into  his  seat. 

"  Let  it  burn,  Richard.  Let  it  burn.  It  has 
had  two  narrow  escapes  from  publication  al 
ready.  It  shall  never  have  another." 

"  But  are  you  mad,  John  ?  The  story  would 
make  you  famous.  Good  Heavens,  man !  it  is 
too  late.  I  call  it  a  crime,  John,  a  crime ! 
Do  you  hear?" 

"  Come,  come,  Richard !  don't  grow  hysteri- 


The  Manhattaners.  177 

cal,"  remarked  Fenton  calmly,  as  he  leaned 
back  in  his  chair  and  resumed  his  cigar,  to  dis 
sipate  the  odor  of  burnt  paper  that  filled  the 
room. 

"  But  why,  John,  did  you  do  such  a  reckless 
thing?  You're  the  last  man  in  the  world  to 
act  like  a  child." 

Fenton  remained  silent  for  some  moments, 
and  then  said  gently,  — 

"We  can't  hark  back  in  this  life,  Richard. 
Time  is  an  inexorable  tyrant.  If  you  try  to 
take  a  liberty  with  him  you  are  certain  to  be 
punished.  What  I  wrote  in  my  youth  would 
do  no  credit  to  my  maturity  —  no  matter  what 
you  or  a  publisher  or  the  public  might  say 
to  the  contrary.  One  of  the  strangest  things 
about  the  life  of  an  intellectual  man,  Richard, 
is  that  his  views  regarding  the  fundamental 
problems  of  existence  are  in  a  constant  state 
of  change.  How  we  regard  death  and  love  and 
friendship  and  immortality,  and  other  matters 
of  more  or  less  significance,  at  twenty-five  has 
little,  if  anything,  to  do  with  the  way  we  look 
at  these  matters  twenty  years  later.  I  know 


178  The  Manhattaners. 

of  no  greater  wrong  you  could  do  to  a  man 
of  intelligence  than  to  present  to  him  in  type 
a  record  of  the  opinions  he  openly  expressed 
ten  years  ago,  and  inform  him  that  it  was  im 
perative  that  he  should  go  before  the  public 
on  that  basis.  In  fact,  Richard,  I  have  grown 
very  suspicious  of  those  chameleons  we  so 
proudly  call  convictions.  Lucky  is  the  man 
who  can  reach  middle  life  and  still  feel  abso 
lutely  certain  that  two  and  two  make  four." 

Richard  remained  silent  for  a  time  after 
Fenton  had  ceased  to  speak,  but  finally  said 
gently,  — 

"  I  think,  John,  that  I  can  see  as  much 
through  a  knot-hole  as  most  men  of  my  age, 
when  the  points  of  interest  are  called  to  my 
attention;  but  I  must  acknowledge  that  I  had 
never  expected  to  hear  you  preach  the  doctrine 
of  uncertainty." 

"You  mistake  me,  boy.  I  preach  nothing  !  " 
exclaimed  Fenton,  arising  and  peering  at  his 
watch  in  the  darkness.  "  Nothing  but  the 
glorious  doctrine  that  hard  work  is  the  only 
relief  from  futile  questionings.  Good-night, 


The  Manhattaners.  179 

my  boy.  I  am  sorry  to  rush  off,  but  I  must 
get  to  the  office  at  once.  And  you  ? " 

"Can't  you  guess?"  asked  Richard,  smiling. 

"I  might  if  I  tried,"  answered  Fenton,  hold 
ing  his  friend's  hand  a  moment ;  "  but  I  sha'n't 
try.  But  bear  in  mind,  Richard,  that  the  glory 
of  a  renunciation  lies  in  the  strength  of  the 
temptation." 

"  I  thought,  John,  that  you  had  no  convic 
tions  !  "  exclaimed  Richard  pointedly. 

"You  are  mistaken,  boy,"  returned  Fenton, 
with  a  touch  of  his  old  cynicism.  "  Every 
man  has  a  large  supply  of  them  —  to  offer 
to  his  friends.  Good-night." 


i8o  The  Manhattaners. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"You  are  very  thoughtful,  Mr.  Stoughton," 
remarked  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  gently,  as  she 
wheeled  around  on  the  piano-stool  and  looked 
Richard  squarely  in  the  face. 

"I  was  weighing  a  sentence  just  uttered  by 
John  Fenton  —  one  of  those  haunting  phrases 
of  his  that  will  not  take  a  back  seat  when  they 
have  once  entered  the  mind." 

"  He  must  be  a  man  of  peculiar  power,  this 
John  Fenton,"  commented  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett 
musingly.  "I  have  heard  him  quoted  a  good 
deal  of  late." 

"By  Gertrude  Van  Vleck?"  asked  Richard, 
with  an  impulsive  exhibition  of  bad  taste. 

Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  frowned. 

"  I  am  astonished,  Mr.  Stoughton !  Your 
question  is  simply  shocking.  But  tell  me," 
she  continued,  leaning  forward,  and  looking  at 
him  inquisitively,  "do  you  really  think  that 
Mr.  Fenton  is  interested  in  Gertrude  ? " 


1'he  Manhattaners.  181 

"  I  am  astonished !  "  cried  Richard.  "  Your 
question  is  simply  shocking,  Mrs.  Percy-Bart- 
lett." 

Their  eyes  met,  and  they  laughed  merrily. 
They  were  both  very  happy  for  the  moment. 
The  love-affairs  of  other  people  may  form  at 
times  a  very  effective  counter-irritant  and  de 
lay  a  crisis  that  Platonic  friendship  is  apt  to 
carry  with  it  when  a  young  married  woman 
and  an  ardent  youth  use  it  as  a  cloak  to  con 
ceal  their  feelings. 

"  In  some  respects,"  remarked  Mrs.  Percy- 
Bartlett  musingly,  "  it  would  be  an  ideal 
union." 

"If  there  are  such,"  put  in  Richard  reflec 
tively. 

"  That  sounds  like  the  cynicism  of  your 
friend  Mr.  Fenton.  I  hope,  Mr.  Stoughton, 
that  you  are  not  losing  your  ideals." 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  Richard  earnestly, 
"  I  am  finding  new  ones." 

"  May  I  ask  where  ?  "  she  murmured,  a  wist 
ful  look  in  her  brown  eyes. 

"  I  have  found  the  highest  of  them  all  in  this 


1 82  The  Manhattaner 

little  music-room,"  he  said  with  more  earnest 
ness  in  his  tone  than  it  had  held  before. 
"  What  ideal  is  so  beautiful  as  that  which 
forms  the  basis  of  our  friendship  ?  Is  it  not 
true  that  the  altar  on  which  we  make  the  hard 
est  sacrifice  is  that  which  becomes  the  most 
sacred  in  our  sight  ?  I  might  live  a  thousand 
years,  but  when  memory  grew  weary  of  its 
heavy  task,  it  would  still  turn  fondly  to  the 
scene  before  me  now,  and  I  would  see  myself 
in  fancy  a  youth  with  an  ideal — an  ideal  that 
sealed  his  lips  —  and  broke  his  heart." 

He  had  turned  very  pale,  and  his  words 
seemed  to  him  to  have  been  forced  from  him 
by  a  mysterious  and  irresistible  influence  that 
he  could  neither  recognize  nor  control. 

The  woman's  eyes  were  heavy  with  unshed 
tears.  As  he  had  gone  on  speaking  in  a  low, 
vibrant  tone,  she  had  felt  the  blood  rush  to  her 
face,  and  then  recede,  leaving  her  cheeks  white 
and  drawn.  Her  hands  trembled  as  she  turned 
and  struck  a  few  wavering,  melancholy  chords 
on  the  piano. 

Richard  had  arisen,  and  was  looking  down  at 


The  Manhattaners.  183 

her,  his  face  grown  old,  as  if  life  had  whispered 
a  mighty  secret  into  his  unwilling  ears,  and 
marred  the  pristine  glory  of  his  youth. 

Neither  of  them  spoke  for  a  time.  Finally 
he  said,  — 

"  I  had  started  to  quote  to  you  something 
that  Fenton  said.  Do  you  care  to  hear  it  ? " 

His  voice  was  almost  hard  with  the  effort 
he  made  to  control  its  trembling. 

"  Yes,"  she  murmured,  looking  up  at  him, 
in  her  eyes  a  mute  appeal,  an  unspoken  prayer 
to  his  nobler  self. 

" '  The  glory  of  a  renunciation/  said  my 
friend,  .'lies  in  the  strength  of  the  tempta 
tion.'  " 

She  put  her  cold,  trembling  hand  into  his 
and  their  eyes  met. 

"  Please  go,"  she  whispered.  "  If  you  care 
for  me  at  all  you  will  do  as  I  ask." 

She  withdrew  her  hand,  and  Richard  turned 
away  as  if  determined  to  do  as  she  had 
requested.  For  a  moment  he  saw  himself  in 
his  true  character,  —  an  impressionable,  impetu 
ous  man,  inexperienced  in  the  ways  of  the 


184  The  Manhattaners. 

world,  and  easily  influenced  by  his  surround 
ings.  He  saw  himself  casting  meaning  glances 
at  a  dark-eyed  girl  in  an  unconventional  res 
taurant.  Then  the  remorse  and  self-loathing 
that  had  come  over  him  as  he  knelt  in  prayer 
in  the  sombre  shadows  that  haunted  a  church- 
pew  returned  for  an  instant,  and  he  felt  an 
irresistible  desire  to  prove,  for  his  own  satis' 
faction,  that  the  higher  aspirations  that  had 
dominated  him  later  on  were  not  mere  fleeting 
fancies.  He  turned  and  reseated  himself  in 
the  chair  at  her  side. 

"  Forgive  me  for  what  I've  said,"  he  im 
plored,  his  voice  low  and  firm  ;  "  I  dare  not 
leave  you  now.  It  will  drive  me  mad  to  reflect 
that  I  have  been  unkind  to  you.  I  have  been 
very  selfish.  Let  me  have  at  least  one  more 
chance  to  prove  that  I  can  be  your  friend." 

She  smiled  sadly,  and  turning  to  the  instru 
ment  played  softly  the  refrain  of  Heine's  mel 
ancholy  song. 

The  impotence  of  longing,  the  futility  of 
rebellion,  were  emphasized  in  Richard's  restless 
mind  as  he  recalled  the  words  of  the  poem 


The  Manhattaners.  185 

she  had  set  to  music.  What  availed  it  that 
the  pine-tree  craved  the  palm  ?  The  inexor 
able  fiat  of  a  universe  controlled  by  laws  as 
pitiless  as  they  are  unchangeable  had  decreed 
that  only  in  dreams  should  its  love  find  satis 
faction. 

She  turned  and  looked  at  him  again.  Her 
face  was  pale,  and  there  were  shadows  beneath 
her  eyes,  but  in  her  smile  was  a  ray  of 
sunshine. 

"Why  can  you  not  be  content?"  she  asked 
gently.  "Do  you  not  find  pleasure  in  spend 
ing  an  evening  with  me  now  and  then?" 

"You  need  not  ask,"  he  murmured. 

"But  do  you  know  that  it  would  end  all 
this  if  — if"  — 

"If?" 

"  If  you  were  always  as  reckless  as  you  have 
been  to-night." 

"How  hard  it  is  to  obtain  justice  in  this 
world,"  he  cried,  a  faint  smile  on  his  lips. 
"  How  well  I  know  that,  far  from  being  reck 
less,  I  have  exercised  the  greatest  self-restraint. 
Do  you  know,  —  please  don't  turn  your  eyes 


1 86  The  Manhattaner 

away,  —  do  you  know  what  temptation  I  have 
resisted  to-night  ?  Is  it  not  true  that  the 
grandeur  of  a  victory  lies  in  the  martial  power 
of  the  enemy  overthrown  ?  I  would  have  been 
a  coward  had  I  retreated  when  you  asked  me 
to.  Is  it  not  better  for  us  to  sit  here  con 
tentedly  and  talk  of  friendship?" 

She  glanced  at  him  deprecatingly. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said  in  a  tone  of  sad 
ness,  "that  there  is  sometimes  a  mocking  note 
in  your  voice  and  an  expression  on  your  face 
that  make  me  wonder  if  you  ever  take  your 
self  or  any  one  else  seriously?" 

She  had  put  into  words  a  doubt  that  had 
never  before  been  symbolized  in  his  mind, 
though  often  vaguely  felt.  He  was  silent  for 
a  moment,  wondering  if  it  was  only  his  youth, 
or  a  fundamental  defect  in  character,  that  had 
awakened  in  her  a  questioning  that  found  so 
unwelcome  a  response  in  his  own  heart.  Un 
fortunate  is  that  man  who  finds  nothing  at 
the  very  depths  of  his  own  personality  but  an 
interrogation  mark. 

"Are  you  not  unreasonable?"  he  suggested 


The  Manhattaners.  187 

quietly,  striving  to  obtain  self-justification. 
"  When  I  speak  earnestly  —  and  honestly  — 
you  ask  me  to  leave  you.  When  I  openly 
ratify  the  terms  upon  which  you  allow  me  to 
remain,  you  say  I  jest.  I  almost  despair  of 
ever  winning  your  favor." 

She  smiled  encouragingly. 

"I  like  you  now,"  she  remarked  frankly. 
"  Perhaps,  after  all,  I  am  not  as  daring  a  rebel 
as  I  once  told  you  that  I  was." 

Some  one  had  entered  the  drawing-room ; 
and  turning  toward  the  portiere,  they  saw 
Percy-Bartlett,  his  pale  face  just  a  shade  whiter 
than  usual. 

"  Good-evening,  Stoughton,"  he  said,  coming 
forward  and  giving  the  young  man  his  hand. 
"  Harriet,  we  ask  your  indulgence.  Shall  we 
smoke  here  or  go  into  the  library  ? " 

Richard's  first  inclination  was  to  take  his 
departure  at  once,  but  he  realized  in  time  the 
awkwardness  that  would  attend  such  a  step. 

"  Always  the  slaves  to  habit  ! "  cried  Mrs. 
Percy-Bartlett,  with  a  vivacity  born  of  nervous 
reaction  rather  than  of  satisfaction  at  the  con 
tretemps. 


1 88  The  Manhattaners 

"I  long  ago  gave  up  the  idea  of  defending 
my  music-room  from  cigar-smoke,  Mr.  Stough- 
ton.  In  fact,  I  have  become  fond  of  it.  I 
think,"  and  she  looked  at  her  husband  smil 
ingly,  but  with  a  gleam  of  defiance  in  her 
eyes,  "  that  I  will  take  to  cigarettes.  They're 
really  quite  good  form  in  these  days,  are  they 
not  ?  " 

"It  is  hard  to  say  at  present,"  remarked 
Percy-Bartlett,  puffing  his  cigar  reflectively, 
"  what  is  good  form  and  what  is  not.  I  con 
fess,  Stoughton,  that  I  am  rather  old-fashioned 
in  my  ideas." 

"  For  instance  ? "  suggested  Richard,  not 
wholly  at  his  ease. 

"There  are  a  thousand  illustrations  on  my 
tongue.  But  of  what  use  is  resistance  ?  The 
new  ideas  —  and  cigarettes  are  an  appropriate 
symbol  of  many  of  them  —  are  too  strong  at 
present  in  their  initial  force  to  succumb  to 
opposition.  But  I  have  never  lost  faith  in  the 
power  of  reaction.  We  have  gone  ahead  too 
fast.  There  must  be  a  return  to  the  old  ways 
soon." 


The  Manhattaners.  189 

Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  turned  restlessly  to  the 
piano,  and  struck  a  few  defiant  chords  on  the 
instrument.  She  had  expressed  a  doubt  as  to 
her  status  as  a  rebel.  Her  husband  had  ap 
peared  at  the  right  moment  to  fling  those 
doubts  to  the  wind. 

As  Richard  arose  to  take  his  departure, 
Percy-Bartlett  said  to  him,  with  more  cordial 
ity  than  the  young  man  inwardly  felt  that  he 
deserved  from  such  a  source,  — 

"  Don't  let  the  atmosphere  in  which  you  are 
thrown,  Stoughton,  cause  you  to  cast  away 
your  birthright.  It  is  on  men  of  birth  and 
education  that  the  safety  of  this  country  ulti 
mately  depends.  You  should  be — and  I  hope 
you  are  —  a  conservative  of  the  conservative. 
I  want  to  get  you  into  the  Sons  of  the  Revo 
lution  and  the  Society  of  Colonial  Wars.  I 
am  an  enthusiast  on  these  things,  Stoughton, — 
a  man  must  have  a  fad,  you  know,  —  and  you're 
the  kind  of  material  that  we  can't  afford  to 
give  to  the  enemy.  Good-night !  Drop  into 
my  office  some  morning  soon,  and  we'll  talk 
these  matters  over." 


190  The  Manhattaners. 

Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  gave  her  cold  hand  to 
Richard  and  said,  with  a  conventional  intona 
tion  that  chilled  him,  in  spite  of  the  soft  ex 
pression  in  her  eyes, — 

"And  we  will  see  you  soon  again,  Mr. 
Stoughton  ? " 

"Thanks,"  he  said,  "and  good-night." 

Percy-Bartlett  had  reseated  himself,  and  was 
taking  the  final  puffs  from  his  cigar,  as  his  wife 
returned  and  began  to  rearrange  the  sheets  of 
music  on  the  piano. 

"Stoughton  is  a  boy  I  think  I  might  like," 
remarked  Percy-Bartlett,  gazing  at  his  wife 
steadily.  "  But  he  looks  worn-out.  I  fear  he 
is  overdoing  things." 

"Perhaps,"  she  answered  with  studied  indif 
ference.  "  I  suppose  his  work  is  very  wear- 
ing." 

"  Yes  ;  and  that's  what  I  can't  understand 
about  the  youngster.  He  has  money  of  his 
own.  Why  doesn't  he  travel  and  study  in 
stead  of  tying  himself  to  such  a  merciless 
mill-wheel  as  a  daily  newspaper?" 

How   magnificent    is   man's    blind    egotism ! 


The  Manhattaners.  191 

Percy-Bartlett,  a  millionnaire,  was  devoting  his 
whole  time  and  nervous  energy  to  adding  to 
his  wealth,  and  still  he  censured  a  youth,  by 
no  means  rich,  for  following  a  line  of  life  that 
insured  him  a  living.  It  is  so  easy  to  demand 
of  our  neighbor  that  he  lead  an  ideal  exist 
ence  ! 

"You  look  very  pale,  my  dear,"  remarked 
his  wife  after  a  long  silence,  with  more  con 
cern  in  her  voice  than  it  often  held  in  his  hear 
ing. 

"I  am  not  feeling  especially  well,"  he  re 
turned  gratefully,  and  throwing  away  his  cigar, 
"I  must  give  up  smoking,  Harriet.  The  doc 
tor  says  it  is  imperative." 


1 92  The  Manhattaners. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

JOHN  FENTON  had  once  called  Mr.  Robinson, 
of  the  Trumpet,  an  argus-eyed  editor.  But 
Fenton  did  not  fully  realize  how  searching 
and  far-reaching  was  his  superior's  gaze.  The 
managing  editor  of  a  New  York  newspaper 
is  seldom  appreciated  at  his  true  worth  by 
his  subordinates.  They  are  too  closely  in 
touch  with  the  methods  by  which  he  produces 
his  effects  to  grant  him  that  admiration  that 
the  readers  of  his  newspaper  feel  for  him.  It 
is  enough  if  the  navigator  of  a  journalistic 
craft  obtains  the  respect  and  loyalty  of  his 
crew.  He  must  not  expect  to  be  the  object 
of  hero-worship  in  the  forecastle.  It  depends 
upon  which  end  of  the  telescope  you  place 
before  your  eye,  the  impression  that  the  moon 
makes  on  your  mind.  The  public  looks  at 
a  famous  editor  through  the  large  end  of  the 
instrument,  while  his  subordinates  view  him 


The  Manhattaners.  193 

through  the  small  end.  Rare  and  precious 
is  the  newspaper  potentate  who  can  stand 
both  tests. 

Editor  Robinson  of  the  Trumpet  was  not 
a  great  man,  —  a  creature  that  the  end  of 
the  century  seems  disinclined  to  produce  in 
any  line  of  human  endeavor,  —  but  he  pos 
sessed  ripe  experience,  a  wide  range  of  vision, 
and  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  merits  and 
demerits  of  the  material  at  his  disposal.  In 
judging  the  availability  of  a  piece  of  news  or 
the  advisability  of  a  certain  line  of  editorial 
policy  his  mind  worked  with  great  rapidity 
and  acuteness.  When  it  came  to  rendering 
a  final  verdict  regarding  any  man  with  whom 
he  came  in  contact  he  was  hesitating  and 
conservative.  He  had  learned  by  experience 
that  it  is  dangerous  to  admire  Dr.  Jekyll  too 
much  until  you  have  proved  conclusively  that 
he  is  not  a  Mr.  Hyde. 

There  were  two  men  in  the  office  who  had, 
of  late,  been  under  Mr.  Robinson's  close  in 
spection.  He  was  making  a  thorough  study 
of  John  Fenton  and  Richard  Stoughton  for 


194  The  Manhattaners. 

a  cherished  purpose  that  he  had  long  had  at 
heart.  Many  circumstances  had  combined  to 
lead  him  to  the  conclusion  that  slowly  but 
surely  these  two  men  had  rendered  themselves 
eligible  for  a  post  that  neither  of  them  had 
ever  dreamed  of  rilling. 

A  man  is  always  going  up  or  coming  down 
in  a  newspaper  office,  —  a  fact  that  proves 
how  like  the  world  at  large  a  journalistic  sanc 
tum  is.  In  Mr.  Robinson's  eyes,  Fenton  and 
Stoughton  were  on  the  up-grade.  Regarding 
Fenton  he  had  long  been  in  doubt.  He  had 
grown  to  look  upon  him  as  a  man  of  ability 
who  had  lost  all  ambition,  and  whose  ques 
tionable  habits  and  iconoclastic  tendencies  of 
thought  had  unfitted  him  for  any  higher  place 
than  he  already  held.  Fenton's  long  service 
in  the  city  department  and  his  thorough  knowl 
edge  of  men  and  affairs  in  the  metropolis 
had  rendered  him  a  valuable  assistant,  in  spite 
of  his  peccadilloes  and  theories ;  but  that  he 
would  ever  become  fitted  for  a  higher  line 
of  journalistic  achievement  Mr.  Robinson  had 
never  imagined.  For  some  months,  however, 


The  Manhattaners.  195 

the  managing  editor's  keen  eye  had  observed 
a  great  change  in  Fenton's  demeanor  and  ap 
pearance.  Much  to  Mr.  Robinson's  astonish 
ment,  he  saw  that  his  subordinate  was  inclined 
to  refrain  from  alcoholic  stimulants,  that  he 
had  grown  very  particular  about  his  attire 
and  that  he  seemed  fond  of  the  society  of 
young  Stoughton. 

Mr.  Robinson  was  what  the  world  calls  a 
self-made  man.  He  had  "come  up  from  the 
case,"  as  the  expression  goes,  having  been  a 
journeyman  printer  in  the  days  of  his  youth. 
It  is  a  curious  fact  that  a  man  who  has 
made  a  success  of  his  life  in  spite  of  heavy 
obstacles  can  never  destroy  a  certain  unde 
fined  admiration  for  a  man  who,  being  born 
to  wealth,  position,  and  leisure  has  carelessly 
thrown  away  his  advantages  and  fallen  from 
his  high  estate.  The  fact  that  Fenton  had 
abandoned  as  useless  toys  the  very  things  for 
which  Robinson  had  been  striving  all  his  life 
gave  the  city  editor,  —  as  Fenton  was  at  this 
time,  —  a  unique  place  in  the  eyes  of  his  chief. 
In  his  heart  of  hearts,  he  considered  Fenton 


196  The  Manhattaners. 

a  being  superior  to  himself ;  and  it  was  this 
feeling  that  often  added  a  brusqueness  to  his 
manner  when  dealing  with  his  subordinate 
that  had  not  tended  to  make  their  relations 
very  cordial.  But,  then,  cordiality  between 
the  heads  of  the  various  departments  of  a 
metropolitan  daily  is  a  gem  as  rare  as  it  is 
precious.  Down  in  the  pressroom  a  great 
object-lesson  is  presented  to  the  eyes  of  a 
thoughtful  man.  Here  is  a  vast  amount  of 
machinery,  the  most  insignificant  part  of  which 
is  obliged  to  work  in  perfect  union  with  all 
other  parts,  small  or  great.  By  the  constant 
application  of  oil,  friction  is  prevented  and 
the  gigantic  presses  perform  their  task  in  a 
way  that  shows  what  tremendous  results  can 
be  obtained  by  a  complicated  machine  when 
absolute  sympathy  between  all  the  varying 
features  is  maintained. 

How  different  is  the  working  of  the  great 
brain-engine  above  stairs !  Here  man  rubs 
against  man,  jealousy  and  discontent  and  fa 
voritism  do  what  they  can  to  clog  the  machin 
ery  ;  and  the  more  one  knows  about  the  inner 


The  Manhattaners.  197 

life  of  a  newspaper-office,  the  more  the  won 
der  grows  that  the  newspaper  of  to-day  ap 
proximates  so  closely  to  the  highest  journalistic 
ideal.  You  may  find  flaws,  gentle  reader,  in 
what  your  favorite  journal  says,  but  its  typo 
graphical  make-up  is  always  perfect.  Bear  in 
mind  that  the  brain-machine  that  turns  out 
the  ideas  it  presents  is  laboring  under  the  ob 
stacles  that  poor,  weak,  erring  human  nature 
begets,  while  the  engines  that  deal  with  the 
materialistic  make-up  of  the  paper  are  influ 
enced  neither  by  jealousy  nor  heart-burning, 
neither  by  revenge  nor  malice.  If  the  har 
mony  that  prevails  in  the  workings  of  the 
press-room  could  dominate  the  editorial  depart 
ments,  an  ideal  newspaper  would  be  the  re 
sult —  a  result  that  will  not  be  obtained  until 
the  millennium  has  done  its  elevating  work. 

It  is  just  possible  that  Mr.  Robinson  was 
not  altogether  at  ease  in  his  mind  over  the 
advance  that  John  Fenton  had  made  in  his 
outward  bearing  and  in  his  position  and  in 
fluence  on  the  Trumpet.  One  of  the  chief 
occupations  of  an  editor  in  charge  of  a  great 


198  The  Manhattaners. 

newspaper  consists  in  keeping  his  mind  awake 
to  possible  rivals.  That  Fenton  had  become 
in  the  last  few  months  a  very  important  fac 
tor  in  the  office  was  apparent  to  the  most  in 
significant  reporter;  and  to  Mr.  Robinson  the 
desirability  of  checking  the  rise  of  a  possible 
competitor  seemed  imperative.  But  hard  steel 
or  cold  poison  is  not  available  in  these  days 
for  the  removal  of  a  man  who  stands  in  our 
way.  In  a  newspaper-office,  however,  there 
are  weapons  that  take  their  place.  One  is 
promotion,  the  other  is  exile.  In  the  case  of 
John  Fenton,  Mr.  Robinson  had  decided,  after 
mature  consideration,  to  combine  both. 

"  I  have  sent  for  you,  Mr.  Fenton,"  re 
marked  the  editor,  smiling  cordially  as  he 
wheeled  around  in  his  chair  and  motioned  to 
his  subordinate  to  be  seated,  "  to  discuss  quite 
an  important  matter." 

"  Timeo  Danaos,  et  dona  ferentes"  muttered 
Fenton  to  himself,  as  he  drew  up  a  chair  and 
looked  at  his  chief  inquiringly. 

"Pardon  me,  I  didn't  catch  your  remark?" 
and  Mr.  Robinson  looked  at  Fenton  suspi 
ciously. 


The  Manhattaners.  199 

"I  am  at  your  service  Mr.  Robinson,  "I 
said,"  answered  Fenton,  smiling. 

"Ah,  very  good  of  you  !  Well,  now  tell  me, 
Mr.  Fenton,  what  is  your  opinion  of  young 
Stoughton  ?  You  have  seen  a  great  deal  of 
him,  have  you  not  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  he's  a  very  clever  boy.  I'm  exceed 
ingly  fond  of  him." 

"  You  find  him  thoroughly  companionable  ? " 

"  Extremely  so,"  answered  Fenton,  wonder 
ing  what  the  editor  was  getting  at.  Mr.  Rob 
inson  did  not  waste  time  in  the  afternoon  on 
unimportant  gossip. 

"And  now,  Mr.  Fenton,"  continued  Robin 
son,  putting  the  tips  of  his  fingers  together, 
after  a  habit  that  pertained  to  his  more  Machi 
avellian  moods,  "  how  long  is  it  since  you  were 
on  the  other  side?" 

"  Fifteen  years,  I  think,"  answered  Fenton 
reflectively.  "I  spent  two  years  in  London 
and  on  the  Continent  just  before  I  went  into 
newspaper  work." 

"  Hum  !  Very  good.  Well,  the  fact  is,  Mr. 
Fenton,  I  have  long  had  a  scheme  in  mind  for 


2OO  The  Manhattaners. 

making  a  great  improvement  in  our  foreign 
service.  Stilson,  you  know,  has  resigned  the 
London  office.  My  idea  is  this :  I  am  very 
much  pleased  with  young  Stoughton's  work  as 
a  paragrapher.  He's  very  pithy,  and  his  style 
has  really  created  quite  a  sensation.  Now, 
there  is  no  man  in  the  profession  who  has 
a  more  artistic  estimate  of  news  than  you 
have,  Mr.  Fenton.  Furthermore,  your  acquaint 
anceship  with  men  and  affairs  has  been  wide, 
and,  I  might  say,  international.  It  seems  to 
me  that  if  you  took  the  London  office,  with 
Stoughton  as  your  assistant,  we  could  make 
a  great  feature  of  a  line  of  news-matter  in 
which  we  have  been  pretty  weak  of  late  years. 
You  catch  my  idea  ?  You're  to  shoot  the 
game,  and  Stoughton's  to  dress  it  for  the  table. 
I  needn't  tell  you,  of  course,  that  your  salary 
will  be  much  larger  in  London  than  it  is  here, 
and  the  work  will  be  much  easier  and  of  a 
character  more  acceptable  to  your  tastes,  Mr. 
Fenton." 

John    Fenton's    mind   had    been    very   busy 
while    Mr.    Robinson    was    speaking.      Three 


The  Manhattaners.  201 

months  before  he  would  not  have  hesitated 
a  moment  to  accept  the  editor's  proposition. 
He  was  not  sure  now  that  it  did  not  offer  a 
solution  to  a  difficulty  that  he  had  not  yet  had 
strength  of  mind  enough  to  solve  himself. 
But  Fenton  was  not  a  man  to  do  anything  in 
a  hurry  —  unless  it  was  to  fall  in  love.  He 
looked  at  Mr.  Robinson  in  silence  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  said,  — 

"  There  is  much  that  is  very  satisfactory 
to  me  in  what  you  have  said,  Mr.  Robinson. 
But  I'm  a  slow,  rather  conservative  man,  and  I 
seldom  come  to  a  conclusion  in  a  hurry.  May 
I  have  a  day  or  two  to  weigh  this  matter  ? " 

"  Oh,  certainly,  certainly,"  answered  the 
editor,  not  wholly  pleased  at  the  position 
Fenton  had  taken.  "  Give  me  your  answer 
day  after  to-morrow.  It  will  do  as  well  then 
as  now." 

Fenton  arose  to  go. 

"  And  about  Stoughton  ? "  he  asked. 

Mr.  Robinson  sat  silent  for  a  time.  Finally 
he  said,  — 

"  I  leave  him  to  you,  Mr.  Fenton.     Talk  the 


2O2  The  Manhattaners. 

matter  over  with  him,  and  bring  him  with  you 
when  you  come  to  me  Monday.  Good-day." 

Fenton  returned  to  his  desk  in  a  more  excited 
mood  than  he  had  expected  ever  to  feel  again. 
When  a  man  renews  his  youth  the  rejuvenation 
is  apt  to  bring  with  it  many  surprises.  That  it 
should  make  any  important  difference  to  him 
whether  he  lived  in  New  York  or  London  was 
an  astonishing  fact  to  John  Fenton.  It  was  an 
unpleasant  truth  that,  in  a  way,  forced  him  to 
come  to  a  decision  that  he  had  been  avoiding 
for  a  long  time.  Should  he  or  should  he  not 
give  up  all  thought  of  making  Gertrude  Van 
Vleck  his  wife,  was  the  question  that  haunted 
him. 

And  Mr.  Robinson,  gazing  moodily  out  of  the 
window  in  his  room  up-stairs,  was  thinking  that 
John  Fenton's  hesitation  was  due  to  ambition. 


The  Manhattaners.  203 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

"!F  we  go,  Richard,  we  burn  our  bridges 
behind  us." 

So  said  John  Fenton,  as  he  walked  restlessly 
up  and  down  the  room,  puffing  a  pipe  nervously, 
his  face  paler  than  usual,  and  a  gleam  in  his 
eyes  that  indicated  a  mind  disturbed. 

Stoughton  was  lounging  in  one  of  Fenton's 
easy-chairs  and  gazing  at  his  friend  question- 
ingly.  It  was  the  evening  of  the  day  on  which 
Fenton  had  listened  to  Mr.  Robinson's  proposi 
tion,  and  he  had  summoned  Richard  to  his  rooms 
for  a  council  of  war. 

"  I  am  fully  convinced,"  continued  Fenton, 
"  that  the  best  thing  that  could  happen  to  you 
at  present,  Richard,  would  be  a  long  absence 
from  New  York.  As  for  myself,  I  am  not  sure 
that  this  London  scheme  would  not  save  me  from 
making  a  fool  of  myself.  But  "  — 

"But,"  put  in  Richard  solemnly,  "you  love 


2O4  The  Manhattaners. 

Gertrude  Van  Vleck.  The  '  but '  is  a  very  im 
portant  one.  Why  should  you  give  her  up? 
Of  course,  John,  there  are  several  reasons  why 
I  can  see  an  advantage  for  myself  in  going  to 
London  as  your  assistant.  But  I  am  perfectly 
willing  to  waive  all  that,  if  you'll  throw  away 
your  unreasonable  scruples,  and  take  the  good 
the  gods  provide." 

Fenton  seated  himself  and  puffed  at  his  pipe 
musingly. 

"  There's  a  vulgar  assertion,"  he  remarked  at 
length,  "  that  informs  us  how  hard  it  is  to  teach 
an  old  dog  new  tricks.  Admitting,  Richard, 
that  what  you  say  is  true,  • —  granting  your  prem 
ises,  I  mean,  —  I  cannot  accept  your  conclusion. 
Listen  to  me  a  moment,  and  don't  interrupt.  I 
will  acknowledge  that  I  should  like  to  make 
Gertrude  Van  Vleck  my  wife,  but  let  us  look  at 
the  matter  from  all  points  of  view.  In  the  first 
place,  I  have  no  means  of  knowing  that  she 
esteems  me  more  than  other  men.  I  have 
grown  distrustful,  Richard,  of  my  own  impres 
sions  in  a  matter  of  this  kind.  Her  cordiality 
toward  me  may  mean  anything  or  nothing. 


The  Manhattaners.  205 

But,  after  all,  that  is  not  the  important  point. 
The  fact  is,  my  boy,  that  I  have  no  right  to 
woo  her.  I  have  made  a  failure  of  life,  for  one 
thing.  Furthermore,  I  have  been  for  some 
years  a  determined  foe  to  the  institutions  that 
have  surrounded  her  with  wealth  and  luxury. 
I  am  willing  to  acknowledge  that  I  am  not  as 
aggressive  a  radical  as  I  was  some  time  ago,  but 
that  does  not  alter  the  fact  that  I  have  long 
been  an  outspoken  opponent  of  timocracy." 

"Timocracy?"  exclaimed  Richard.  "The 
word  sounds  familiar,  but  my  Greek  is  rusty. 
What  does  it  mean,  John  ? " 

Fenton  looked  at  his  friend  suspiciously.  For 
an  instant  he  had  a  feeling  that  Richard  was 
ridiculing  him.  But  the  earnest  expression  in 
the  youth's  face  reassured  him. 

"Timocracy,  you  remember,  Richard,  estab 
lished  a  man's  social  and  political  status  accord 
ing  to  the  amount  of  grain  he  owned.  We 
have  a  timocracy  in  this  country,  in  fact,  if  not 
in  theory.  A  man  is  known  by  the  companies 
he  is  in.  But  this  is  wandering  a  long  way  from 
the  point.  The  fact  is,  Richard,  that  I  have 


206  The  Manhattaners. 

been  under  a  tremendous  temptation  for  the 
last  few  weeks,  a  temptation  against  which  my 
better  nature  has  been  at  war.  What  if  I  had 
given  in  to  it,  and  had,  let  us  say,  won  the  hand 
of  Gertrude  Van  Vleck  ?  I  could  never  make 
her  happy.  Ten  years  ago,  perhaps,  such  a 
woman  might  have  moulded  me  into  something 
approaching  an  ideal  husband.  But  time  is 
tyrannical,  Richard.  It  is  too  late  now  for  me 
to  ask  of  life  the  greatest  blessing  that  it  holds 
for  man,  a  companionable  wife.  I  cannot  ac 
cept  the  sacrifice  of  youth,  beauty,  intellect, 
and  affection  on  the  altar  of  my  selfishness.  It 
wouldn't  do,  Richard.  It  wouldn't  do  at  all.  Let 
the  dream  pass  !  Come,  boy,  help  me  to  be  a 
man.  Let  us  try  London,  Richard,  and  see  if 
its  fogs  can't  hide  the  foolish  mirage  our  fevered 
brains  have  raised.  You  need  heroic  treatment 
as  much  as  I  do.  From  one  standpoint,  in  fact, 
your  case,  Richard,  is  worse  than  mine.  If  you 
stay  here  you  may  bring  misery  to  at  least  three 
people.  If  I  remain,  the  worst  I  could  do 
would  be  to  make  myself  and  one  other  un 
happy.  Mathematically  you  are  more  deserving 
of  exile  than  I  am." 


The  Manhattaners.  207 

"  I  tell  you,  John,"  exclaimed  Richard,  his 
eyes  resting  on  his  friend's  face  affectionately, 
"I  tell  you  I  don't  want  you  to  bring  me  in 
as  an  important  factor  in  this  matter.  You 
are  treating  a  great  crisis  in  your  life  with 
more  cold-blooded  cynicism  than  I  thought 
you  retained.  Don't  you  see  that  you  may 
be  doing  Gertrude  Van  Vleck  a  great  wrong  ? 
Don't  you  understand  that  you  may  be  reck 
lessly  throwing  away  your  chance  of  lifelong 
happiness  ?  What  have  your  years,  or  your 
past,  or  your  theories  got  to  do  with  the  mat 
ter?  The  only  question  at  issue  in  the  whole 
affair  is  this  :  Does  Gertrude  Van  Vleck  love 
you  ?  If  she  does,  your  sacrifice  would  be 
simply  a  cruelty.  If  she  doesn't,  your  sacri 
fice  wouldn't  be  a  sacrifice.  That  sounds  Irish, 
but  it  expresses  my  meaning. 

'  He  either  fears  his  fate  too  much, 

Or  his  deserts  are  small, 
That  dares  not  put  it  to  the  touch, 
To  gain  or  lose  it  all."' 

An  amused  smile  played  over  Fenton's  pale 
face. 


208  The  Manhattaners. 

"  And  what  course  of  action  do  you  advise, 
young  hot-head  ?  " 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  for  you  to  do, 
John.  Go  to  Gertrude  Van  Vleck,  and  tell  her 
that  you  love  her.  If  she  accepts  you,  that 
settles  the  problem  before  us.  If  she  rejects 
you,  we  will  go  to  London." 

Fenton  arose,  and  resumed  his  impatient 
march  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  How  impetuous  youth  is  !  "  he  remarked 
after  a  time.  Then  he  halted;  and,  standing 
in  front  of  Richard,  looked  down  at  the  young 
man  solemnly.  "  You  know  little  of  true  love, 
Richard.  It  is  based  on  unselfishness  and  is 
only  true  to  itself  when  it  remains  worthy  of 
its  foundation.  Listen,  boy,  and  learn.  If  I 
propose  to  Gertrude  Van  Vleck,  and  she  rejects 
me,  I  have  subjected  to  a  painful  experience 
the  woman  I  love.  If  she  accepts  me,  the 
same  result,  emphasized,  is  reached ;  for  I  am 
not  worthy  of  her,  Richard.  I  could  not  make 
her  happy.  No,  no  ;  do  not  answer  me.  No 
man  can  tell  another  what  is  the  right  course 
in  such  an  affair  as  this.  I  have  confessed  to 


The  Manhattaners.  209 

you  more  than  I  ever  expected  to  reveal  to 
any  one.  I  have  fought  my  fight  and  won 
my  victory." 

Fenton  turned,  and  seated  himself  wearily. 
"  It  has  not  been  easy  for  me,  Richard,"  he 
continued  after  a  long  silence.  "  But  let  that 
pass.  If  you  really  care  for  me,  — -  and  I  feel 
that  you  do,  —  you  will  never  refer  to  the  mat 
ter  again.  I  have  dreamed  my  dream,  and 
the  awakening  has  come.  I  see  clearly  that 
there  is  only  one  way  for  me  to  be  true  to 
myself  and  just  to  others.  I  shall  take  that 
way.  And  now,  Richard,  let  us  talk  of  our 
plans.  You  have  never  been  in  London  ? " 

Richard  Stoughton's  heart  was  heavy  as  he 
talked  with  Fenton  about  their  future.  He 
could  not  but  admire  the  strength  and  nobility 
of  his  friend's  character  ;  but  there  seemed  to 
be  something  left  unsaid,  some  argument  not 
yet  advanced,  that  might  throw  a  different 
light  on  the  problem  Fenton  had  weighed  and 
solved  for  himself.  But  Richard  had  learned 
in  the  last  few  months  that  there  was  a  stub 
bornness  and  pride  in  his  companion's  nature 


2io  The  Manhattaners. 

that    rendered    opposition    impossible    after   a 
certain  point  had  been  reached. 

Furthermore,  he  could  not  disguise  from 
himself  that  he  was  pleased  at  Fenton's  de 
cision  in  so  far  as  it  affected  himself.  Stough- 
ton  was  a  thorough  modern  in  his  ways  of 
looking  at  most  subjects,  and  a  few  years  of 
experience  and  travel  might  easily  make  his 
impressionable  nature  very  broad  in  its  ten 
dencies.  But  there  was  an  ancestral  strain 
of  Puritanism  in  his  make-up  that  still  had  a 
strong  influence  on  his  ideas  of  life.  Just  what 
his  feelings  toward  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  were 
he  hardly  knew ;  but  he  realized  that  if  he 
continued  to  meet  her  on  the  footing  that  had 
existed  between  them  of  late,  he  would  in  the 
end  lose  sight  of  certain  principles  to  which 
he  still  fondly  clung.  He  was  old-fashioned 
enough,  as  yet,  to  respect,  in  his  cooler  mo 
ments,  the  musty  teachings  that  still  prevail 
in  certain  parts  of  New  England  regarding  the 
sacredness  of  another  man's  wife.  He  had 
not  yet  grasped  the  comparatively  modern  dis 
covery  that  to  a  bachelor  all  things  are  pure. 


The  Manhattaners.  211 

Then,  again,  with  his  fondness  for  Mrs.  Percy- 
Bartlett  was  mingled  an  admiration  for  a  vein 
of  self-restraint  that  he  felt  certain  existed  in 
the  foundation  of  her  character.  He  knew 
intuitively  that  if,  by  word  or  action,  he  over 
stepped  certain  well-defined  boundaries,  his  in 
tercourse  with  her  would  come  to  an  abrupt 
and  unpleasant  end. 

That  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  was  not  especially 
fond  of  her  husband  he  felt  convinced,  not 
by  any  word  of  hers,  but  from  the  indefinable 
but  overwhelming  testimony  of  airy  nothings. 
That  she  had  grown  to  care  for  him,  Richard 
Stoughton,  a  youth  who  had  brought  some 
thing  into  her  life  the  lack  of  which  she  had 
long  felt,  he  could  well  imagine  —  without,  per 
haps,  a  too  excessive  egotism.  But  from  what 
ever  point  of  view  he  considered  the  matter, 
the  more  it  seemed  to  him  best  that  the  ocean 
should  roll  between  them  for  a  time.  Richard 
Stoughton,  as  the  reader  has  long  since  ob 
served,  was  a  youth  extremely  sensitive  to  his 
surroundings.  The  decision  he  had  come  to 
might  never  have  been  reached  in  the  Percy- 


212  The  Manhattaners. 

Bartletts'  music-room.  In  Fenton's  parlor,  and 
in  the  presence  of  a  man  who  had  made,  in 
Richard's  sight,  a  great  renunciation,  it  was 
not  so  hard  to  live  up  to  his  highest  ideals. 

"  And  so,"  said  Fenton  as  he  arose  to  bid 
his  guest  good-night,  "  and  so,  Richard,  our 
problems  are  solved  at  last.  Come  to  my  room 
at  three  o'clock  on  Monday  and  we  will  go 
up  and  have  a  talk  with  Mr.  Robinson.  Good 
night,  my  boy,  and  good  luck.  I  have  much 
to  thank  you  for,  Richard  —  but  never  mind 
about  it  now.  Good-night." 


The  Manhattaners.  213 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  Percy-Bartletts  were  dining  with  Ger 
trude  Van  Vleck  and  her  father.  Cornelius  Van 
Vleck  was  a  man  sixty  years  of  age,  whose  life 
had  been  spent,  for  the  most  part,  in  maintain 
ing  the  traditions  of  his  family.  As  the  Van 
Vlecks  had  been  prominent  in  the  city  since 
the  year  1636,  the  number  of  these  traditions 
that  he  had  been  called  upon  to  cherish  ren 
dered  his  task  no  sinecure. 

Cornelius  Van  Vleck  had  good  reason  to  be 
proud  of  his  ancestors.  They  had  possessed 
a  combination  of  foresight  and  conservatism 
that  had  conferred  on  their  posterity  the 
blanket-blessing  of  vast  wealth.  The  man  who 
is  a  landed  proprietor  on  Manhattan  Island 
need  never  fear  want.  Banks  may  fail,  the 
credit  of  the  country  may  be  threatened,  rail 
roads  may  dodge  their  dividends,  and  hard  times 
may  cast  their  shadow  over  a  long-suffering 


214  The  Manhattaners. 

people,  but  the  New  York  landlord  is  in 
trenched  behind  a  financial  Gibraltar.  How  is 
he  to  blame  if  his  ancestors  were  thrifty  and 
far-seeing  ?  Render  to  Caesar  the  things  that 
are  Caesar's,  ye  grumbling  and  restless  tenants, 
and  accept  the  world  as  you  find  it.  Cornelius 
Van  Vleck  could  no  more  help  being  rich  than 
you  can  avoid  being  poor.  Wherever  the  blame 
may  lie  for  the  inequalities  that  exist  in  the 
distribution  of  wealth,  surely  Cornelius  Van 
Vleck  cannot  be  held  responsible.  He  is  as 
much  the  victim  of  a  system  as  you  are.  But 
he  bears  his  burden  without  a  protest.  Never 
during  his  long  life  as  a  man  of  great  financial 
and  social  importance  has  Cornelius  Van  Vleck 
been  heard  to  reproach  his  ancestors  for  the 
load  of  responsibility  that  they  placed  upon  his 
shoulders.  He  has  lived  up  to  his  position  in 
the  community  with  an  almost  heroic  devotion 
to  his  lofty  duties ;  and  in  his  old  age  he  is 
still  inspired  by  that  fine  old  motto  of  noblesse 
oblige. 

One  of  the  hereditary  obligations  to  which 
he  has  always  conformed,  for  the  honor  of  his 


The  Manhattaners.  215 

forefathers  and  his  own  satisfaction,  consists 
in  dining  well.  Cornelius  Van  Vleck  has  the 
reputation  of  giving  the  most  artistic  dinners 
in  the  city.  But  he  never  casts  pearls  before 
swine.  His  guests  must  be  worthy  of  his  chef. 
The  hospitable  but  somewhat  testy  old  gentle 
man  demands  from  those  who  sit  at  his  board 
an  appreciation  as  keen  as  his  own  of  the  gas 
tronomic  excellence  of  the  entertainment  pro 
vided.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  he  always 
enjoys  having  the  Percy-Bartletts  at  his  table. 
Whether  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  fully  appreciates 
the  delicate  lights  and  shades  of  the  epicurean 
masterpieces  produced  by  the  Van  Vlecks'  chef, 
the  host  has  never  been  quite  certain.  But  he 
has  no  doubt  of  Mr.  Percy-Bartlett's  ability  to 
understand  and  rejoice  in  the  fine  touches  that 
the  artist  below  stairs  so  deftly  makes. 

"  I  have  my  doubts,  my  friend,"  he  is  saying 
to  Percy-Bartlett,  as  they  puff  their  cigars  and 
sip  a  liqueur  after  the  ladies  have  retired  to  the 
drawing-room,  "  I  have  my  doubts  that  a  woman 
can  ever  become  a  thoroughly  equipped  connois- 
seuse  at  the  dinner-table.  I  know  that  there  is 


216  The  Manhattaners. 

no  line  of  endeavor  in  which  the  new  woman 
does  not  feel  competent  to  shine;  but,"  and 
here  the  old  gentleman  waved  his  liqueur-glass 
at  Percy-Bartlett  with  a  stately  and  hospitable 
gesture,  "but  they  haven't  that  delicate  sense 
of  taste,  that  sensitiveness  to  the  most  refined 
and  elusive  flavors  that  we  men  possess.  Do 
you  know,  there  are  some  dishes  that  I  can't 
make  Gertrude  eat  at  all !  Just  imagine,  sir,  a 
woman,  an  intellectual  woman,  who  takes  pride 
in  shocking  her  old  father  with  her  advanced 
ideas  and  theories,  and  who  has  had  every 
advantage  of  travel  and  instruction,  who  ab 
solutely  refuses  to  eat  terrapin  in  any  form. 
How,  sir,  can  woman  expect  us  to  acknowledge 
her  equality  when  she  boldly  admits  that  she 
doesn't  like  terrapin  ? " 

Percy-Bartlett  smiled ;  but  his  eyes  were  rest 
less,  his  face  pale,  and  his  manner  that  of  a 
man  who  is  making  an  effort  to  be  sociable 
against  his  inclinations. 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Van  Vleck,"  he  replied,  "  that 
you  and  I  are  in  close  sympathy  regarding  the 
absurd  pretensions  made  by  women  to-day. 


The  Manhattaners  217 

Do  you  know,  sir,  I  have  grown  very  weary 
of  the  whole  thing.  There  is  a  restlessness,  a 
pushing,  discontented,  crude,  and  i'mfeminine 
spirit  abroad  among  the  women  of  our  set 
that  has  actually  had  a  crushing  effect  upon 
me.  I  think  that  it  is  responsible  for  the  con 
stantly  recurring  fits  of  the  blues  that  have 
bothered  me  so  much  of  late." 

Cornelius  Van  Vleck,  whose  heavy  but  not 
unsymmetrical  features  lacked  mobility,  gazed 
at  his  guest  with  some  concern  in  his  bluish- 
gray  eyes. 

"You  aren't  looking  quite  fit,  young  man, 
that's  a  fact.  Take  some  of  that  brandy.  It's 
something  very  fine,  I  assure  you.  By  the 
way,  why  don't  you  knock  off  a  bit,  and  run 
over  to  the  other  side  with  us  ?  Gertrude  and 
I  are  going  over  at  once.  She  needs  a  change, 
a  great  change.  There's  something  wrong  with 
the  girl.  She  has  grown  morbid  and  flighty, 
sir.  I  can't  understand  it  —  unless  these  new 
ideas  that  are  floating  around  have  struck 
in.  She  has  been  asking  me  some  very  em 
barrassing  questions  of  late,  sir,  some  very 


2i 8  The  Manhattaners. 

embarrassing  questions.  I  even  suspect  that 
Gertrude  has  been  visiting  some  of  my  tenants 
on  the  East  Side,  and  distributing  alms.  As 
if  organized  charities  were  not  sufficient  to 
relieve  the  distress  in  the  city !  I  have  remon 
strated  with  her,  sir ;  but  what  can  you  do  with 
a  woman  to-day?  Whose  authority  do  they 
respect,  sir  ?  A  father's  ?  a  husband's  ? " 

Percy-Bartlett  sipped  his  brandy  nervously, 
while  a  slight  flush  arose  to  his  pallid  cheeks. 

"  I  thoroughly  sympathize  with  you,  Mr. 
Van  Vleck.  We  are  almost  powerless  to  check 
this  rebellious  spirit.  There  is  a  limit,  of 
course,  to  protest  beyond  which  a  gentleman 
cannot  go.  I  fully  realize  that.  There  have 
been  many  things  to  disturb  us  of  late ;  we,  I 
mean,  who  cling  to  the  old  ideas  and  the  best 
traditions  of  our  set.  And,  do  you  know,  I 
hold  the  newspapers  responsible  for  a  good 
deal  of  the  harm  that  has  been  done." 

"  You  are  right,  Percy-Bartlett  !  you  are 
right ! "  cried  his  host  with  more  animation 
than  he  usually  displayed.  "  There  have  been 
those  among  us  who  seemed  to  actually  crave 


The  Manhattaners  219 

notoriety.  It  has  been  shocking  —  shocking  ! 
I  really  don't  know  what  we're  coming  to.  Do 
you  know,  I  gave  a  small  dinner-party  last 
night,  —  twelve  at  the  table,  you  know,  —  and, 
will  you  believe  me,  a  reporter  came  to  the 
house  and  asked  for  a  list  of  my  guests. 
That's  a  straw  that  shows  which  way  the  wind 
blows.  When  I  was  young,  sir,  a  man  could 
dine  at  home  without  awakening  the  curiosity 
of  the  public.  But,  tell  me,  aren't  you  well  ? 
You  look  very  pale.  I  am  worried  about  you, 
my  friend." 

Percy-Bartlett  was  leaning  back  in  his  chair, 
a  gray  pallor  on  his  face,  and  his  lips  almost 
colorless.  Leaning  forward  with  an  effort, 
he  swallowed  the  remaining  drops  of  brandy 
in  his  glass. 

"  It  is  nothing,  Mr.  Van  Vleck,"  he  said, 
after  a  moment's  silence ;  "  I  have  been  doing 
too  much  work  and  worrying  of  late.  I  really 
believe  I  need  a  vacation." 

"  You  do  indeed,  sir,"  remarked  his  host 
emphatically.  "  Come,  young  man,  listen  to 
reason.  The  one  great  privilege  that  wealth 


22O  The  Manhattaners. 

grants  is  that  it  gives  us  our  freedom.  Come 
over  to  London  with  us.  We  sail  Wednesday 
morning.  Drop  your  work  right  here  and  take 
a  rest.  If  you  don't,  you'll  break  down,  Percy- 
Bartlett,  and  all  the  king's  horses  and  all 
the  king's  men  won't  be  able  to  pull  you 
together  again." 

Percy-Bartlett  looked  at  his  elderly  compan 
ion  gratefully.  It  was  a  novel  and  welcome 
sensation  to  have  some  one  take  an  interest 
in  his  welfare.  There  was  silence  for  a  time. 
Then  he  said,  as  he  arose  slowly,  as  though  his 
head  felt  giddy,  — 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,  Mr.  Van  Vleck. 
Come  into  the  drawing-room  with  me.  I'll 
ask  Harriet  what  she  thinks  of  the  scheme." 


The  Manhattaners.  221 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"  EVEN  if  it  turns  out  happily,  Harriet,  I  will 
always  feel  that  she  did  an  unwomanly  thing." 

Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  and  Gertrude  Van  Vleck 
were  seated  en  tete-ti-tete  in  the  drawing-room, 
talking  of  a  quiet  wedding  that  had  taken  place 
recently  in  the  inner  circle.  This  matrimonial 
event  had  possessed  peculiar  features.  It  was 
rumored,  on  evidence  more  conclusive  than 
gossip  often  enjoys,  that  the  bride  had  done 
the  larger  part  of  the  wooing  and  had  actually 
proposed  to  the  man  of  her  choice.  What  the 
circumstances  were  that  had  led  to  this  reversal 
of  ancient  custom  on  the  part  of  people  to 
whom  time-honored  precedents  are  especially 
dear  nobody  but  the  high  contracting  parties 
knew ;  but  it  was  well  understood  that  the 
woman  had  taken  the  initiative,  and  had  been 
successful  in  her  egotistic  match-making. 
There  were  a  good  many  spinsters  in  society 


222  The  Manhattaners. 

who  approved  of  her  course,  but  Gertrude  Van 
Vleck  was  not  among  them. 

"But,"  argued  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett,  "I 
thought,  Gertrude,  that  you  were  progressive. 
You  seem  to  accept  many  of  the  new  ideas, 
but  reject  others.  I  am  sure  I  can't  see  why 
she  did  an  unwomanly  thing.  In  these  days 
there  is  hardly  anything  that  can  be  called 
unwomanly  —  if  it  is  done  gracefully." 

Gertrude  smiled  sadly  as  she  looked  into  her 
friend's  sympathetic  eyes.  They  both  realized 
that  the  problem  they  were  discussing  was  not 
an  abstract  question,  but  that,  on  the  contrary, 
it  possessed  a  concrete  and  vital  significance 
for  one  of  them. 

"I'm  afraid,  Harriet,"  said  Gertrude  mus 
ingly,  "  that  I  cannot  keep  up  with  women  who 
are  determined  to  be  in  the  front  ranks  of  the 
new  movement.  I  have  too  many  conservative 
characteristics  in  my  make-up,  inherited  from 
my  father." 

She  looked  about  her  with  restless  eyes,  her 
glance  seeming  to  appeal  to  the  spirit  of  the 
room  in  which  they  sat  for  strength  and  com- 


The  Manhattaners.  223 

fort.  There  are  many  drawing-rooms  in  New 
York  that  combine  luxury  with  taste.  Not  a 
few  are  actually  regal  in  their  magnificence. 
But  a  drawing-room  that  indicates  ancestral 
glories,  that  seems  to  rejoice  in  the  fact  that 
it  is  the  storehouse  of  patrician  memories,  is 
a  rarity.  The  Van  Vlecks'  drawing-room  was  a 
shrine  sacred  to  the  cult  of  true  American  aris 
tocracy.  You  might  pooh-pooh  the  Van  Vlecks' 
coat-of-arms,  their  family  livery,  or  other  out 
ward  manifestations  of  ancestral  pride,  but  only 
an  iconoclast  deluded  by  delirium  could  enter 
that  drawing-room  without  feeling  the  subtle 
influence  that  it  exerted  in  opposition  to  the 
image-breakers  of  to-day. 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  broke  the  si 
lence  that  had  followed  Gertrude's  last  remark. 

"You  sail  Wednesday.  You  do  not  expect 
to  see  him  before  you  go  ? " 

"  No.  Why  should  I  ?  He  will  not  come 
to  me  again." 

"Tell  me,  Gertrude,  how  you  know,"  said 
Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  gently,  taking  the  girl's 
cold  hand  in  hers. 


224  The  Manhattaners. 

"It  is  hard  to  explain,"  remarked  Gertrude 
wearily.  "I  understand  him  so  well,  Harriet. 
He  is  very  proud,  and  has  such  queer  ideas  \ 
He  —  he  —  don't  think  me  awfully  conceited, 
Harriet  —  he  —  I'm  sure  he  likes  me.  But  I 
never  expect  to  see  him  again." 

There  was  the  suspicion  of  a  sob  in  her 
voice.  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  gazed  earnestly 
into  her  friend's  eyes. 

"  Tell  me,  Gertrude,"  she  said  beseechingly, 
"what  has  happened.  You  are  concealing 
something  from  me." 

• 

"  Nothing,  truly,"  exclaimed  Gertrude,  a 
frank  smile  on  her  lips.  "There  has  been 
absolutely  nothing  between  Mr.  Fenton  and 
myself  that  you  do  not  know  about,  Harriet." 

"But  why,  my  dear,  do  you  say  that  you 
never  expect  to  see  him  again  ?  I  can't  un 
derstand  it." 

"  I  hardly  know  how  to  explain  it  to  you, 
Harriet.  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  placing 
too  much  confidence  v  in  intuition  and  inex 
plicable  impressions,  but  I  feel  certain  that 
he  will  never  come  to  me  again  —  unless  I 
send  for  him." 


The  Manhattaners.  225 

Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  was  silent  for  a  time. 
Things  seemed  so  fatally  wrong  in  the  world 
at  that  moment.  She  felt  confused,  discon 
tented,  wholly  unfit  to  give  comfort  or  ad 
vice  to  her  unhappy  friend.  And  yet  why 
should  she  not  urge  her  to  take  a  step  that 
might  lead  to  happiness  ?  Why  should  pride 
and  precedent  be  permitted  to  stand  between 
John  Fenton  and  Gertrude  Van  Vleck  when 
the  very  spirit  of  the  age  was  teaching  men 
and  women  to  be  broad-minded  and  reason 
able,  and,  perhaps,  more  natural  ?  Impulsively 
she  turned  to  Gertrude  and  bent  very  close 
to  her. 

"  My  dear  girl,  you  are  doing  him  and  your 
self  a  great  wrong.  You  should  write  to  him 
and  ask  him  to  come  to  you.  It  is  the  only 
way." 

"And  when  he  comes?"  asked  Gertrude  in 
a  whisper. 

Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  bent  and  kissed  the  pale 
cheek  of  the  trembling  girl. 

"  Tell  him  that  you  love  him,  Gertrude." 

A  flush  overspread  Gertrude's  face  and  her 


226  The  Manhattaners. 

eyes  flashed.  She  arose  and  looked  down  at 
her  friend. 

"  I  cannot,  Harriet.  When  you  put  it  into 
words,  it  scares  me.  It  is  horrible  to  talk  of 
such  a  thing.  I  am  sorry  —  so  sorry,  that 
you  said  it."  She  reseated  herself  and  looked 
into  the  sad,  brown  eyes  that  gazed  at  her 
almost  reproachfully. 

"  I  know  that  you  meant  it  for  the  best, 
Harriet,  but  it  can  never  be.  And,  now, 
promise  me  that  you  will  never  refer  to  this 
again.  You  know  my  secret.  Let  us  go  on 
as  though  I  had  never  told  you." 

They  were  silent  for  a  time,  their  cold  hands 
clasped  in  a  contact  that  expressed  more  than 
words.  After  a  time  Gertrude  spoke, — 

"I  am  so  sorry  to  go  away  from  you  just 
now,  Harriet.  I  never  needed  you  so  much 
before." 

Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  sighed  wearily. 

"I  am  so  tired,  Gertrude.  When  you  are 
gone  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do.  Life 
is  such  a  weird  and  wearisome  affair.  I  am 
young,  and  the  world  has  given  me  every- 


The  Manhattaners.  227 

thing  that  I  ought  to  ask  of  it  —  but  — 
but"  — 

She  hesitated.     Gertrude  bent  toward  her. 

"I  think  I  understand,  my  dear.  I  am  so 
sorry." 

There  was  a  note  of  sympathetic  pity  in 
her  voice  that  was  sweet  and  soothing  in 
her  hearer's  ear.  They  were  both  tasting 
the  bitter  cup  that  every  man  and  woman 
must  sometime  hold  to  the  lips,  and  in  the 
moment  of  their  sorrow  their  friendship  for 
each  other  became  more  precious  than  it 
had  ever  been.  It  was  hard  to  part  at  the 
greatest  crisis  in  their  lives,  to  say  farewell 
when  they  needed  from  each  other  the  in 
spiration  that  the  closest  intercourse  could 
give. 

Cornelius  Van  Vleck  and  Percy-Bartlett  en 
tered  the  drawing-room. 

"  I  have  great  news  for  you  both,"  cried 
the  former  as  he  came  forward,  his  phleg 
matic  face  more  animated  than  usual. 

They  looked  up  at  him  inquiringly. 

"Your  husband  and  I  have  a  secret,  Mrs. 


228  The  Manhattaners. 

Percy-Bartlett,"  he  went  on  playfully.  "Are 
you  not  curious  to  know  what  it  is?" 

"Of  course  I  am,  Mr.  Van  Vleck.  Am  I 
not  a  woman  ? " 

The  glimpse  she  caught  of  her  husband's 
face  startled  her.  There  was  an  unnatural 
flush  in  his  cheeks,  and  his  eyes  were  fever 
ishly  bright. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  she  exclaimed,  rising 
and  putting  her  hand  on  his  arm.  Percy- 
Bartlett  smiled  reassuringly. 

"Nothing  serious,"  he  answered.  "I  dis 
obeyed  the  doctor  and  smoked  one  of  Mr. 
Van  Vleck's  cigars.  Furthermore,"  and  he 
looked  at  his  host  knowingly,  "  I  fear  that  I 
am  threatened  with  an  attack  of  mal-de-mer" 

Gertrude  Van  Vleck  sprang  up  in  excite 
ment. 

"  Do  you  mean  it  ? "  she  cried.  "  O  Har 
riet  !  don't  you  understand  ?  You  are  going 
with  us.  Am  I  not  right,  papa?" 

Cornelius  Van  Vleck  smiled  benignantly. 

"  I  have  become  your  husband's  medical 
adviser,"  he  remarked,  turning  to  Mrs.  Percy- 


The  Manhattaners.  229 

Bartlett,  "  and  have  ordered  him  to  take  a 
sea-voyage  for  his  health." 

"And  you  have  agreed?"  asked  Mrs.  Percy- 
Bartlett  of  her  husband,  her  voice  cold,  almost 
harsh,  from  the  excitement  that  she  restrained. 

"  If  you  wish,"  he  answered,  seating  himself 
wearily,  and  looking  up  at  his  wife  with  an 
affectionate  gleam  in  his  eyes. 

"  It  is  almost  too  good  to  be  true,"  cried 
Gertrude  Van  Vleck,  trying  to  meet  Harriet's 
averted  gaze.  "  I  am  so  happy." 

"  Is  it  not  charming,  Gertrude  ? "  said  Mrs. 
Percy-Bartlett,  seating  herself  by  her  husband's 
side  and  speaking  with  as  much  enthusiasm  as 
she  could  summon  to  her  aid.  But  she  was  not 
an  actress,  and  to  her  husband  and  her  con 
fidante  there  seemed  to  be  an  unconvincing 
note  in  her  voice,  a  suggestion  that  she  was 
accepting  the  inevitable  with  a  protest  that 
vainly  craved  expression. 


230  The  Manhattaners. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

MRS.  PERCY-BARTLETT  was  seated  at  the 
piano,  idly  striking  chords  that  seemed  to 
vibrate  with  the  melancholy  of  her  mood.  It 
was  Tuesday  evening,  and  her  husband  had 
gone  to  his  club  to  attend  to  several  matters 
that  required  settlement  before  his  departure. 
They  were  to  sail  for  Europe  early  on  the 
following  morning,  and  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett's 
revery  was  one  of  mingled  apprehension  and 
regret.  Her  mind  assured  her  that  the  exile 
before  her  was  the  best  possible  solution  of 
a  problem  that  had  forced  itself  upon  her; 
her  heart  revolted  against  the  thought  of  a 
difficult  but  imperative  step  that  she  must 
take.  She  had  sent  a  note  that  morning  to 
Richard  Stoughton,  telling  him  that  she  was 
to  leave  for  Europe  on  Wednesday  and  that 
she  would  be  glad  to  see  him  in  the  evening, 
if  he  was  at  leisure.  The  messenger  had  re- 


The  Manhattaners.  231 


turned  with  an  answer  to  her  note  that  had 
filled  her  with  surprise  and  consternation. 

"  I  will  call  this  evening,"  Richard  had  writ 
ten,  "not  to  say  adieu  to  you,  but  to  bid  us 
both  bon  voyage.  I  am  overjoyed  at  the  out 
look." 

What  these  enigmatical  words  meant  she 
had  been  unable  to  determine.  He  seemed 
to  imply  that  he,  too,  was  to  sail  for  Europe 
in  the  morning.  If  that  were  the  case,  she 
realized  that  she  had  a  hard  task  before  her. 
Her  instinct  told  her  that  it  would  be  fatally 
unwise  for  them  to  make  the  voyage  together. 
In  the  first  place,  the  presence  of  Richard 
Stoughton  on  the  steamer  would  look  very 
queer  to  Percy-Bartlett.  Surely  the  increase 
of  his  jealousy  was  not  the  line  of  treatment 
likely  to  restore  her  husband  to  health.  Fur 
thermore,  she  longed  for  rest  and  peace.  She 
had  rebelled  in  her  heart  at  first  against  the 
idea  of  running  away  from  the  one  great  pleas 
ure  of  her  life,  the  comradeship  of  Richard 
Stoughton  ;  but  later  on  her  mood  had  changed, 
and  she  had  begun  to  take  a  melancholy  satis- 


232  The  Manhattaners. 

faction  in  the  thought  that  if  absence  might 
mean  pain  and  longing  it  would  also  beget 
its  own  anaesthetic. 

And  now  she  sat  awaiting  Richard's  coming, 
her  heart  beating  feverishly,  her  face  pale  and 
her  eyes  restless  and  brilliant.  She  had  deter 
mined,  if  the  worst  came  to  the  worst,  that  she 
would  ask  him  to  make  a  great  sacrifice  for 
her  on  the  altar  of  friendship.  She  had  not 
reached  this  decision  without  a  struggle.  It 
would  be  so  pleasant  to  have  him  with  her  on 
the  voyage !  She  had  grown  to  take  so  much 
pleasure  in  his  companionship  that  it  seemed 
almost  sacrilege  to  place  any  obstacle  in  the 
path  of  events  that  conspired  to  prolong  their 
intimacy.  And  it  was  chance,  not  design,  that 
was  responsible  for  the  fact  —  if  it  were  a  fact 
—  that  they  were  to  sail  for  the  Old  World  to 
gether.  But  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  was  too  clever 
a  woman  to  allow  the  tempting  fallacies  that 
beset  her  mind  to  long  have  sway.  She  rea 
lized  that  it  is  very  easy  to  find  arguments  to 
defend  and  justify  almost  any  course  of  action  ; 
but  she  still  retained  her  confidence  in  that 


The  Manhattaners.  233 

vague,  indefinable,  but  insistent  guide  that  is 
generally  called  conscience,  and  when  she  was 
weary  of  inward  debate  she  always  fell  back 
on  it  for  the  final  word,  the  motive-power  that 
should  carry  her  in  the  right  direction.  In 
this  instance,  conscience  whispered  to  her  that 
either  Richard  Stoughton  or  herself  must  re 
main  in  New  York  when  the  Majestic  left  the 
pier  in  the  morning.  That  it  would  be  well 
nigh  impossible  for  her  to  make  a  change  in 
her  plans  without  undergoing  many  embarrass 
ing  questions  from  her  husband,  she  well 
knew.  Her  ultimate  hope  lay  in  Richard 
Stoughton's  unselfishness.  If  he  cared  for 
her  "  in  the  right  way,"  as  she  put  it  to  her 
self,  he  would  alter  his  movements  for  her 
sake. 

The  portiere  was  pushed  back,  and  a  servant 
announced  "  Mr.  Stoughton."  Richard  entered 
the  music-room,  a  flush  of  pleasure  and  ex 
citement  on  his  cheeks  and  the  joy  of  youth 
ful  enthusiasm  in  his  eyes. 

As  she  gave  him  her  hand  it  felt  as  cold 
as  marble  in  his  grasp,  and  he  saw  that  her 


234  The  Manhattaners. 

face  was  pale  and  her  expression  one  of  appre 
hension  rather  than  delight. 

"  Something  is  worrying  you,"  he  said,  as 
he  seated  himself  where  he  could  look  into 
her  face.  "Did  you  not  understand  my 
note?" 

She  smiled  sadly.  "  I  fear  that  I  did," 
she  answered  in  a  low  voice.  "  You  sail  on 
the  Majestic  to-morrow  morning  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  she  faltered,  feeling  that 
it  was  harder  to  obey  the  voice  of  conscience 
than  she  had  thought  it  would  be. 

The  light  in  his  face  died  out  and  he  looked 
at  her  with  mingled  surprise  and  regret. 

"  I  had  thought,"  he  said,  almost  bitterly, 
"that  you  would  be  pleased  to  have  me  for 
a  fellow-traveller." 

How  could  she  explain  to  him  her  feelings 
in  the  matter  ?  His  very  youth  made  it  diffi 
cult.  It  would  be  so  easy  for  him  to  misunder 
stand  her.  At  that  moment  she  felt  that  she 
was  years  older  than  this  man  whose  birthday 
was  in  the  same  month  as  her  own.  And  in 


The  Manhattaners.  235 

his  presence  it  was  harder  to  make  the  sacri 
fice  she  had  determined  upon  than  it  had  ap 
peared  to  be  an  hour  before.  She  looked  up 
at  him  shyly.  His  face  had  grown  pale  and  the 
smile  had  died  away  from  his  lips.  A  woman 
never  knows  how  much  she  really  cares  for  a 
man  until  she  is  obliged  to  ask  of  him  a  great 
renunciation  for  her  sake.  It  is  in  the  nature 
of  a  generous  and  affectionate  woman  to  confer 
favors,  not  to  plead  for  them. 

The  silence  in  the  room  had  grown  embar 
rassing.  She  turned  and  almost  impatiently 
struck  a  few  sombre  chords  on  the  piano.  She 
feared  that  he  would  see  the  tears  that  had 
gathered  in  her  eyes. 

Richard  arose  and  walked  to  the  farther 
end  of  the  room,  then  turned  and  approached 
her.  Her  golden-brown  hair,  the  whiteness 
of  her  neck,  and  the  rounded  outlines  of  her 
shoulders  thrilled  him  with  mingled  delight 
and  despair.  He  was  vaguely  conscious  of 
the  fact  that  this  woman  was  asking  of  him 
a  sacrifice  that  he  would  find  it  hard  to  make. 
He  understood  her  well  enough  to  realize  that 


236  The  Manhattaners. 

in  his  own  inherent  generosity  she  was  placing 
a  confidence  that  demanded  on  his  part  both 
reticence  and  renunciation.  She  had  said  that 
she  was  sorry  that  they  were  to  be  companions 
on  an  ocean  voyage.  Feverishly  his  mind  en 
deavored  to  grasp  the  full  significance  of  her 
words.  He  could  not  at  that  moment  weigh 
them  in  all  their  bearings,  but  it  was  enough 
that  she  had  expressed  regret  at  the  coinci 
dence  that  had  turned  their  faces  toward 
Europe  at  the  same  moment.  It  would  be 
cruel,  unnecessary,  to  make  her  explain  her 
self  more  fully.  One  thought  overshadowed 
all  others  in  his  mind.  If  she  did  not  care 
for  him,  —  why  should  he  mince  words  ?  —  did 
not  love  him,  she  would  not  admit  that  she 
was  sorry  that  he  was  to  be  by  her  side  for 
so  long  a  time.  She  had  confessed  to  him 
that  the  shadow  of  self-distrust  was  on  her 
soul.  He  could  not  ask  for  more.  All  men 
may  be  selfish,  but  at  a  great  crisis  there  are 
those  who  can  be  chivalric. 

Richard  reseated  himself  and  looked  at  her 
mournfully. 


The  Manhattaners.  237 

"You  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  me,"  he  ven 
tured  after  a  time. 

She  turned  and  glanced  at  him,  with  a  gleam 
of  merriment  in  her  changeful  eyes. 

"You  sometimes  seem  to  me  to  have  clair 
voyant  power,"  she  remarked.  "  Yes,  I  have  a 
request  to  make  —  but  it  seems  so  selfish  of 
me !  It  is  the  hardest  thing  I  ever  had  to 
do." 

He  arose  and  stood  looking  down  into  her 
face. 

"Please  don't  feel  that  it  is  difficult,"  he 
said  gently.  "  I  think  I  know  what  you  would 
ask.  If  you  wish,  I  will  put  off  my  departure 
until  Saturday.  No,  don't  thank  me.  I  shall 
find  my  reward  in  the  thought  that  —  that "  — 

He  hesitated,  and  she  raised  her  face  until 
their  eyes  met.  He  bent  toward  her. 

"In  the  thought  that  you  may  realize  how 
hard  it  is  for  me  to  let  you  go." 

He  had  taken  both  her  hands,  and  the  tears 
in  her  eyes  made  it  well-nigh  impossible  for 
her  to  see  how  close  his  lips  were  to  hers. 

"You  are  a  noble  fellow,"  she  whispered. 


238  The  Manhattaners. 

Richard  was  torn  with  the  tempest  of  love 
and  desperation  that  filled  his  soul.  The  in 
cense  of  her  hair,  the  warm  caress  of  her 
breath  as  it  touched  his  face,  the  sad,  white 
misery  of  her  trembling  lips  seemed  to  mad 
den  him.  He  hesitated  an  instant,  while  the 
spirits  of  light  and  darkness  warred  within  him. 
Then  a  strange  thing  happened.  He  heard,  as 
though  the  speaker  stood  close  to  his  ear,  the 
ringing  voice  of  the  preacher  who  had  stirred 
his  soul  amid  the  solemn  shadows  of  a  church 
some  weeks  before,  and  it  seemed  to  say :  "  Be 
true  to  your  manhood ;  for  the  light  that  is 
within  you  is  divine." 

Richard  turned  on  the  instant,  unconscious 
that  his  overwrought  nerves  had  worked  what 
seemed  at  the  moment  to  be  a  miracle.  White 
and  trembling,  he  sank  into  the  chair  by  the 
side  of  the  sobbing  woman,  whose  icy  hand 
still  rested  wearily  in  his. 

As  he  had  turned,  it  had  seemed  to  him  that 
the  portieres  at  the  end  of  the  room  were  fall 
ing  into  place,  as  though  they  had  been  sud 
denly  disturbed ;  but  as  he  looked  at  them 


The  Manhattaners.  239 

again,  hanging  heavy  and  quiet  in  the  shadows, 
he  felt  that  the  fever  that  had  caused  him  to 
hear  a  stranger's  voice  had  cast  its  delirious 
witchery  upon  his  vision.  But  the  truth  was 
that  his  ears  had  played  him  false,  while  his 
eyes  had  not. 


240  The  Manhattaners. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

IN  certain  respects  Percy-Bartlett  was  an 
ideal  clubman.  He  was  a  member  of  several 
exclusive  clubs,  but  he  frequented  only  one. 
He  took  more  interest  in  the  welfare  of  this 
organization  than  he  did  in  the  growth  of  the 
West  or  the  opening  of  Africa  to  civilization. 
Philanthropists  might  have  called  him  narrow- 
minded.  He  would  have  been  astonished  at 
the  accusation.  He  subscribed  liberally  to  the 
fund  of  his  church  for  foreign  missions  and  had 
once  helped  to  equip  a  Polar  expedition.  A 
man  who  could  open  his  purse  to  enterprises 
of  this  character  would  never  look  upon  him 
self  as  an  individual  restricted  in  his  sym 
pathies.  Cannot  a  man  be  a  broad-minded 
benefactor  of  his  race  without  seeking  the 
companionship  of  those  beneath  him  in  the  so 
cial  make-up  ?  Percy-Bartlett  never  imagined 
for  a  moment  that  in  confining  his  intercourse 


The  Manhattaners.  241 

to  those  whom  he  considered  his  equals,  he 
was  putting  himself  out  of  touch  with  the  age 
and  world  in  which  he  lived.  Theoretically, 
he  acknowledged  the  brotherhood  of  man. 
Practically,  he  found  satisfaction  only  in  the 
companionship  of  men  who  were  eligible  to 
membership  in  his  favorite  club.  He  devoted 
a  tithe  of  his  fortune  to  charity ;  why  should 
he  not  have  the  privilege  of  giving  most  of  his 
time  to  clubdom  ?  Percy-Bartlett,  like  a  good 
many  Americans,  acknowledged  the  grandeur 
of  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  but  did 
not  feel  that  that  instrument  had  established  a 
ritual. 

It  is  said  that  a  man  cannot  serve  both  God 
and  Mammon.  However  this  may  be,  —  and 
there  are  clever  individuals  who  seem  to  fight 
under  both  banners,  —  it  is  certain  that  it  takes 
genius  for  a  man  to  do  his  duty  equally  well  to 
his  club  and  to  his  home.  Percy-Bartlett  was 
not  a  genius.  He  was  a  thorough  gentleman, 
of  fair  ability,  who  had  found  himself  inclined, 
at  one  time,  to  sacrifice  his  club  for  the  sake 
of  his  home.  But,  other  things  being  equal, 


242  The  Manhattaners. 

a  man,  in  the  long  run,  will  take  the  path  in 
which  he  finds  the  readiest  and  most  pro 
nounced  sympathy.  Percy-Bartlett  was  appre 
ciated  at  his  true  worth  at  his  club.  He 
realized  vaguely  that  at  his  home  he  was  in  an 
atmosphere  that  was  not  wholly  congenial,  and 
that  he  did  not  hold  the  high  place  in  the 
bosom  of  his  family  that  assures  to  a  husband 
the  domestic  felicity  that  is,  in  the  end,  fatal  to 
prominence  in  club  life.  A  companionable 
husband,  like  anything  else  worth  having,  is 
the  product  of  assiduous  cultivation.  The 
converse  is  also  true;  and  a  man  cannot  enjoy 
the  intercourse  of  a  thoroughly  congenial 
woman  unless  he  has  the  tact  and  perseverance 
necessary  to  the  production  of  this  rare  and 
priceless  blossom  of  the  social  flora.  Marriage 
is  like  a  garden,  in  which  two  plants  are  set 
aside  to  tend  each  other.  If  one  of  them  is 
neglectful  of  the  task,  imposed  upon  it,  they 
both  suffer  equally;  and  the  garden  in  which 
they  have  been  placed  grows  narrow  and  dis 
tasteful  in  their  sight.  If  you  grasp  the  full 
significance  of  this  illustration,  O  gentle  reader, 


The  Manhattaners.  243 

you  will  be  able  to  understand  why  it  is  that  in 
these  progressive  times  not  only  married  men 
but  married  women  have  their  clubs.  We  all 
crave  sympathy,  and  an  outlet  for  the  unrest 
that  is  in  us.  If  we  cannot  find  them  at  home, 
we  must  go  to  our  club,  where  we  may  meet 
some  one  who  understands  us,  and  who  will 
offer  us  a  relief-pipe  for  the  pent-up  individu 
ality  that  so  sorely  chafes  us.  And  thus  it  is 
that  both  men  and  women  need  their  clubs  to 
day.  The  end  of  the  last  century  found  the 
world  emphasizing  the  brotherhood  of  man. 
The  end  of  the  present  century  is  busy  under 
scoring  the  sisterhood  of  woman.  Is  it  strange 
that  the  last  years  of  the  eighteenth  century 
were  not  more  disturbing  to  the  institution  of 
marriage  than  are  the  closing  days  of  the  nine 
teenth  century  ?  The  only  conclusion  that 
seems  deducible  to  the  student  of  contemporary 
social  unrest  is  that  the  millennium  will  not 
be  reached  until  the  problem  of  how  to  make 
a  home  a  club  is  solved. 

Percy-Bartlett  was  not  especially  happy,  al 
though  such  an  admission  was  the  last  that 


244  The  Manhattaners. 

he  would  willingly  have  made  to  himself.  He 
had  grown  accustomed  to  deceiving  himself 
into  the  belief  that  he  thoroughly  enjoyed 
life.  Surely  it  had  done  much  for  him.  He 
had  wealth,  position,  friends,  and  a  beautiful 
and  accomplished  wife.  But  slowly  the  fine 
flavor  of  existence  had  passed  away,  and  some 
times  the  unwelcome  thought  would  force  it 
self  upon  him  that  he  was  a  tired  and  lonely 
man.  Never  by  word  or  look  did  he  hint  at 
this  suspicion,  even  to  his  most  intimate  friends. 
They  had  noticed  of  late  that  he  had  lost  his 
spirits  and  looked  ill  and  weary;  but  he  had 
spoken  of  his  recurrent  attacks  of  indigestion, 
and  they  had  seen  that  he  had  become  very 
abstemious  in  the  us#  of  alcohol  and  tobacco. 
That  there  was  anything  radically  wrong  with 
him  neither  he  nor  they  suspected. 

Percy-Bartlett  was  in  a  more  cheerful  mood 
than  usual  when  he  left  his  club  on  Tuesday 
evening  at  an  earlier  hour  than  was  his  wont 
to  return  home.  The  future  looked  brighter 
than  it  had  appeared  for  some  time  past.  He 
had  placed  his  affairs  in  such  shape  that  he 


The  Manhattaners.  245 

could  take  a  long  vacation  without  worrying 
about  the  details  of  his  personal  interests.  He 
walked  rapidly  down  the  avenue,  anxious  to 
have  a  long  chat  with  his  wife  before  retiring. 
They  would  be  obliged  to  rise  early  in  the 
morning  to  take  the  steamer,  which  left  her 
pier  at  eleven  o'clock. 

There  was  a  smile  of  contentment  on  his 
face  as  he  thought  that  a  change  of  scene  and 
the  excitement  of  travel  might  do  much  to 
draw  his  wife  closer  to  him.  She  would  have 
no  time  on  the  journey,  he  reflected,  to  become 
wholly  absorbed  in  her  musical  pursuits.  That 
he  had  grown  jealous  of  Richard  Stoughton  he 
had  never  acknowledged  to  himself,  but  he  had 
long  resented  the  rivalry  of  his  wife's  piano, 
and  he  rejoiced  at  the  fact  that  she  could  not 
take  it  with  her. 

Furthermore,  he  realized  that  his  precarious 
health  demanded  from  him  a  long  rest  and  a 
thorough  change  of  scene.  He  was  not  over- 
fond  of  travel,  but  in  these  days  the  possession 
of  wealth  insures  to  the  tourist  an  amount  of 
comfort  that  is  almost  equal  to  that  obtained 


246  The  Manhattaners. 

from  his  club.  From  all  points  of  view,  the 
immediate  future  looked  bright  to  Percy-Bart- 
lett  as  he  slowly  mounted  the  steps  of  his 
house,  and  puffing  slightly  from  the  exertion, 
quietly  opened  the  hall-door  with  a  night-key. 
He  would  come  upon  his  wife  quietly  and 
enjoy  the  expression  of  surprise  on  her  face 
at  his  early  return.  That  there  would  be  a 
warm  welcome  in  her  smile  he  hardly  dared  to 
hope.  But  it  is  very  easy  to  fall  into  the  habit 
of  expecting  from  those  we  love  the  reflection 
of  the  mood  that  we  happen  to  be  in.  That 
Percy-Bartlett  had  often  been  disappointed  in 
obtaining  from  his  wife  the  sympathy  he  craved 
had  not  made  him  despair  of  sometime  winning 
from  her  the  response  to  his  affection  that 
he  knew  she  had  the  power  to  give. 

The  moment  seemed  to  him  to  be  favorable 
for  breaking  down  the  barriers  that  had  so 
long  appeared  to  separate  him  from  his  wife. 
He  would  find  her  in  the  music-room.  Dip- 
lomate  that  he  was,  he  would  ask  her  to  sing 
one  or  two  of  her  own  songs  to  him,  and  then 
he  would  tell  her  of  the  outlines  of  their  jour- 


The  Manhattaners.  247 

ney  that  he  had  prepared,  and  would  make 
whatever  changes  in  the  itinerary  that  she 
suggested.  He  could  see  her,  in  imagination, 
closing  her  piano  for  the  last  time,  and  turning 
to  him  with  a  bright  smile  on  her  face  when 
she  had  locked  the  instrument  and  put  the 
key  in  her  pocket. 

His  heart  beat  with  stifling  rapidity  as  he 
quietly  entered  the  drawing-room.  He  smiled 
as  the  thought  flashed  through  his  mind  that 
he  was  more  in  the  mood  of  a  young  lover, 
staking  his  life's  happiness  on  a  few  burning 
words,  than  in  that  of  a  middle-aged  husband 
about  to  discuss  the  prosaic  details  of  a  Euro 
pean  trip  with  his  wife. 

The  drawing-room  was  dimly  lighted,  and 
the  portieres  at  the  entrance  to  the  music- 
room  were  closely  drawn.  He  approached 
them  noiselessly,  somewhat  surprised  that  his 
rival,  the  piano,  was  not  taking  advantage  of 
his  absence  to  strengthen  its  hold  upon  his 
wife. 

Gently  he  laid  his  trembling  hand  upon 
the  heavy  hangings,  and  looked  into  the  music- 


248  The  Manhattaners. 

room.  Then  he  dropped  the  portiere  and 
turned  away,  his  face  ghastly  in  its  pallor,  and 
his  eyes  wild  with  sudden  pain.  He  staggered 
forward  across  the  drawing-room,  making  an 
heroic  effort  to  avoid  stumbling  against  the 
furniture.  Strangely  enough,  the  one  over 
powering  fear  that  possessed  him  at  the  mo 
ment  was  that,  by  some  accident,  he  should 
make  his  presence  known  in  the  music-room. 
He  looked,  as  he  actually  skulked  toward  the 
hall,  like  a  man  who  had  committed  some 
awful  crime,  and  who  was  making  a  desperate 
effort  to  avoid  detection.  Great  beads  of  per 
spiration  had  broken  out  upon  his  brow.  His 
face  was  drawn  and  set,  and  his  lips  were 
pressed  against  his  teeth  in  a  way  that  gave 
his  countenance  an  expression  of  ghastly  mirth. 
The  dread  that  beset  him  was  that  in  the 
hall  he  would  attract  the  attention  of  one  of 
the  servants.  Trembling  with  cold,  he  crept 
into  his  overcoat  and  tip-toed  to  the  door.  All 
was  silent  in  the  house.  Out  into  the  night  he 
stole,  glancing  furtively  up  and  down  the  avenue 
like  one  who  dreads  detection.  He  reeled  with 


The  Manhattaners.  249 

dizziness  as  he  reached  the  sidewalk  and  leaned 
for  a  moment  against  a  railing.  The  night  air 
seemed  to  revive  him  after  a  time ;  for  pulling 
himself  together  with  a  mighty  effort,  he  moved 
on  toward  his  club  like  one  who  walks  in  sleep 
and  flees  from  the  phantoms  of  his  dream. 


250  The  Manhattaners. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

"  IT  is  hard,  Gertrude ;  very  hard  !  But  I 
must  be  in  London  a  week  from  to-day." 

Gertrude  Van  Vleck  looked  up  at  her  father 
as  he  uttered  these  words,  and  her  face  grew  a 
shade  paler,  while  the  tears  started  to  her  eyes. 
She  was  clad  in  a  travelling  costume  that  was 
extremely  becoming  to  her  tall  and  graceful 
figure.  In  her  hand  she  held  an  almost  unde 
cipherable  scrawl.  It  was  from  Mrs.  Percy- 
Bartlett,  and  ran  as  follows :  — 

"My  DEAR  GERTRUDE,  —  Perhaps  you  have  already 
heard  the  awful  news.  My  husband  died  suddenly  at 
the  Union  Club  last  night.  I  am  so  utterly  stunned  that 
I  cannot  write  coherently,  but  one  insistent  thought  is 
with  me  at  this  sad  time.  You  must  not  change  your 
plans  on  my  account.  I  long  for  you  at  this  moment  with 
my  whole  heart,  but  my  selfishness  must  have  no  weight 
with  you.  If  you  really  wish  it,  I  will  join  you  in  London 
soon ;  but  I  can  make  no  special  arrangements  just  now. 


The  Manhattaners.  251 

I  will  write  to  you  or  send  you  a  cable  message  as  soon 
as  I  have  the  strength  and  opportunity  to  think  of  the 
future." 

"  Listen,  Gertrude,"  continued  Mr.  Van  Vleck, 
almost  sternly,  "  We  have  no  time  to  lose. 
Don't  think  me  heartless,  my  child ;  but  I 
must  be  in  London  on  the  date  I  have  set, 
for  many  reasons  that  would  not  interest  you. 
Sit  down  and  write  to  Mrs.  Percy-Bartlett  at 
once.  Tell  her  that  we  will  wait  for  her  in 
London,  and  take  her  to  the  Continent  with  us. 
I  absolutely  cannot  wait  over  a  steamer  at  this 
time.  Poor  little  woman,  I  am  sorry  that  there 
is  no  other  way." 

With  a  heavy  heart  Gertrude  Van  Vleck 
penned  a  note  —  how  inadequate,  almost  heart 
less,  it  appeared  to  her  as  she  re-read  it  —  and 
despatched  it  by  a  messenger  to  Mrs.  Percy- 
Bartlett.  The  generous,  affectionate  heart  of 
the  girl  rebelled  against  the  necessity  that 
compelled  her  to  take  this  course ;  but  there 
seemed  to  be,  at  the  moment,  no  alternative. 

Gertrude  had  had  but  little  personal  con 
tact  with  that  mysterious  thing  we  call  death. 


252  The  Manhattaners. 

The  suddenness  of  her  friend's  bereavement 
appalled  her.  There  comes  a  time  in  every 
one's  experience,  early  or  late,  when  the  insig 
nificance  of  one  human  life  in  the  make-up  of 
the  illimitable  universe  is  emphasized  with  a 
stunning  force  that  leaves  us  wiser,  perhaps, 
but  infinitely  more  sad.  Gertrude  Van  Vleck 
had  thought  much  about  the  strange  problems 
that  the  life  of  the  world  presents,  but  the  final 
and  most  significant  riddle  that  haunts  the 
mind  of  man,  the  awful  question  that  death 
asks,  had  never  touched  her  deeply.  But  now 
it  had  come  to  her  in  a  new  guise,  and  she  felt 
crushed  and  hopeless  with  the  pitiless  sudden 
ness  of  the  shock. 

The  drive  to  the  steamer  seemed  almost  in 
terminable.  The  noises  of  the  streets,  the 
disjointed  exclamations  of  her  father,  the  fever 
ish  throbbing  in  her  head,  caused  Gertrude  the 
most  acute  suffering.  The  bustle  and  excite 
ment  at  the  pier  aggravated  the  restlessness 
and  discontent  that  made  her  whole  being 
ache.  There  seemed  to  be  something  childish 
in  the  vivacity  of  the  men  and  women  around 


The  Manhattaners.  253 

her,  who  came  and  went,  laughed  and  cried, 
were  silent  or  loquacious,  as  if  a  voyage  across 
the  Atlantic  were  a  thing  of  great  moment. 
What  was  it  compared  with  that  mysterious 
journey  into  the  unknown  that  we  must  all 
take  to-day,  or  to-morrow,  or  a  few  years  hence  ? 
It  was  not  until  the  steamer  was  well  down 
the  bay,  and  the  cool,  salt  breeze  that  swept 
the  decks  had  begun  to  bring  the  color  back  to 
Gertrude's  cheeks,  that  she  was  able  to  throw 
off  the  dreary  thoughts  that  oppressed  her. 
And  even  then  it  was  not  with  a  cheerful  gleam 
in  her  eyes  that  she  gazed  out  upon  the  throb 
bing  sea.  Her  heart  cried  out  in  revolt  against 
the  fate  that  had  followed  her.  She  was  leav 
ing  behind  her  all  that  had  made  life  interesting 
of  late.  The  only  woman  she  really  cared  for, 
and  the  only  man  she  had  ever  felt  that  she 
could  love,  were  going  out  of  her  life,  as  the 
great  city  sank  toward  the  horizon  in  the  west. 
It  was  very  hard.  She  gazed  down  upon  the 
waters  rushing  backward  in  her  sight,  while 
the  hot  tears  filled  her  eyes,  and  the  sea-breeze 
kissed  them  cold  against  her  cheek. 


254  The  Manhattaners. 

"This  is  a  weird  and  inexplicable  world,"  she 
heard  a  voice  that  thrilled  her  with  mingled 
amazement  and  joy  saying  at  her  side.  She 
started,  for  the  words  seemed  to  give  expression 
to  her  very  thought,  and  turning,  she  beheld 
John  Fenton,  his  face  reflecting  the  wonder 
and  delight  that  filled  her  soul.  Her  hand 
trembled  as  she  placed  it  in  his  for  a  moment. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said  simply, 
but  her  voice  trembled  with  the  nervous  reac 
tion  that  affected  her.  "I  —  I  —  did  not  know 
that  you  were  going  abroad." 

John  Fenton  kept  her  cold  hand  in  his 
much  longer  than  perfect  etiquette  warranted. 
Words  come  less  readily  to  a  man  than  to  a 
woman  at  a  great  and  unexpected  crisis,  and 
he  was  silent  for  some  time.  Finally  he  said, 
as  he  leaned  against  the  rail  and  looked  at 
her  white  face,  that  still  bore  traces  of  her 
despairing  mood,  — 

"  What  is  to  be,  will  be.  Tell  me,  are  you  a 
fatalist  ? " 

"  I  hardly  know,"  she  answered.  "  Every 
thing  seems  inexplicable  and  unnatural  to  me 


The  Manhattaners.  255 

at  this  moment.  You  have  heard  that  Percy- 
Bartlett  is  dead?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Fenton,  gazing  seaward  for 
a  moment.  "I  received  a  note  from  Richard 
Stoughton  this  morning.  He  was  coming  with 
me,  you  know.  He  has  postponed  the  voyage 
for  a  week  or  so." 

Gertrude's  blue  eyes  looked  into  his  ques- 
tioningly. 

"  He  was  there  last  evening  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Yes.  He  was  just  leaving  when  Mrs. 
Percy-Bartlett  received  a  note  from  Buchanan 
Budd  saying  that  her  husband  had  died  sud 
denly  at  tke  club." 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  Mr.  Stoughton  did  not 
sail,"  she  said,  more  to  herself  than  to  Fenton. 
It  was  strange  how  much  the  salt  air  had  done 
to  restore  the  color  to  her  face  and  the  light  of 
contentment  to  her  eyes.  "She  —  that  is  Mrs. 
Percy-Bartlett,  you  know  —  is  coming  over  to 
us  at  once." 

There  was  silence  for  a  time.  As  they 
looked  down  at  the  surging  waters,  the  strange 
coincidence  that  had  thrown  them  together 


256  The  Manhattaners. 

again  seemed  to  them  both  to"  take  on  a  super 
natural  character. 

"  You  were  going  away  without  bidding  me 
good-by,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  Her  eyes 
met  his  reproachfully. 

"  You  do  me  an  injustice,"  he  returned.  "  I 
wrote  to  you  this  morning." 

She  turned  from  him,  and  her  eyes  sought 
the  horizon.  She  felt  that  his  words  had 
placed  her  in  an  embarrassing  position.  She 
could  not  ask  him  what  his  letter  said ;  but 
she  longed  to  know. 

They  stood  without  speaking  for  some  time. 
He  was  gazing  at  her  clear-cut  profile,  and,  as 
he  looked,  the  scruples  that  had  led  him  to 
make  a  great  renunciation  for  her  sake  seemed 
to  him  at  that  moment  to  be  strained  and 
illogical.  Had  he  not  made  every  sacrifice  on 
the  altar  of  his  Quixotic  creed?  And  had  not 
fate  rendered  his  efforts  futile  ?  Surely  he 
and  Gertrude  Van  Vleck  would  not  be  stand 
ing  together  on  the  deck  of  an  ocean  steamer, 
outward  bound,  if  the  stars  in  their  courses 
had  not  ordained  that  he  should  tell  her  what 
was  in  his  heart. 


The  Manhattaners.  257 

"I  wish,"  he  said  at  length,  "that  you 
would  do  me  a  favor." 

She  turned  to  him  with  a  puzzled  smile  on 
her  face. 

"  Promise  me,"  he  continued  earnestly,  "  that, 
if  the  letter  I  sent  to  you  this  morning  ever 
comes  to  your  hand,  you  will  destroy  it  un 
opened." 

The  smile  died  away  from  her  face.  He  saw 
that  he  had  placed  himself  in  the  position  of 
being  misunderstood.  What  could  he  do  but 
explain  himself?  His  face  was  pale  with  emo 
tion,  and  he  grasped  the  rail  nervously. 

"Gertrude,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  vibrant 
with  suppressed  passion, "  Gertrude,  I  love  you  ! 
Tell  me,  will  you  —  can  you  give  me  hope?" 

She  was  gazing  seaward,  with  eyes  that 
were  moist  with  the  tears  of  happiness. 

Presently  he  felt  a  cold,  trembling  hand  in 
his  and  the  sun  on  the  instant  broke  through 
the  clouds  and  kissed  the  smiling  sea,  as  their 
grasp  grew  firm  with  the  fervor  of  their  love. 

THE   END. 


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